


The Rose and the Sword

by paxastraluna



Category: Disney - All Media Types, Sleeping Beauty (1959)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:02:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28940412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paxastraluna/pseuds/paxastraluna
Summary: Fate made her a legend and forced her to become the princess she never was and never wished to be. But, freedom comes with sacrifices, and, Briar Rose, Princess of Liyonne and the famed Sleeping Beauty, knew in her heart that she needed to choose her own happiness, even if it meant losing the love of her life.Maric Landry had travelled all over the continent earning coin by slaying monsters with the faint hope that someone will recognize him. It’s been years since an accident left him with no memory of himself or his past… until, one night, fate intervenes.





	1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

Briar Rose knew everything was wrong a week into living at the castle. If she was being honest with herself, she knew things were not right the night of her sixteenth birthday. A ball was thrown in celebration of her surviving until her sixteenth birthday. Surviving. Rose was cursed at birth, something she did not know of until she woke to find Prince Philip’s face hovering over her own. She didn’t know why she was asleep in that tower. The last thing she remembered was that Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather had left her alone in a room in the castle. She was thinking about how desperately cold the room felt with its stone walls and high ceiling. 

She missed the cottage. She missed the forest. She wasn’t thinking about the boy she met earlier that day at all. She was thinking about how she was a princess and her whole world had turned upside down. 

Rose learned that her aunts were really not her aunts at all- they weren’t even human. Aunt Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather were fairies, something Rose didn’t even know existed in the world. 

And that night, Rose danced with Prince Philip, which was absolutely divine. She felt as if she was flying, her feet barely touching the ground, as he swung her around on the ballroom floor where dignitaries from far and wide watched entranced.

Earlier that day, Philip had snuck up on her in the forest, back when she thought he was simply a village boy and not a prince at all. She was surprised when he came upon her dancing and singing to herself with the forest animals prancing amongst her feet. Even though she didn’t know anyone outside of her aunts, she wasn’t frightened. He had a kind face. That was what she remembered most about him. He had a kind face because he was kind.

He didn’t deserve what she did to him.

***

Rose left two notes. One for her parents, King Stefan and Queen Leah. Though they tried desperately to accept Rose as their own daughter, to begin raising her as a true princess, Rose faltered. She couldn’t tell the difference between the different sized spoons and when to use them at dinner, didn’t know how to address the fellow members of the aristocracy (she made the blunder of curtsying to the maid or footman one too many times and outright ignoring a visiting king), and she hated wearing shoes and never did so whenever she could. She played with the children in the surrounding villages, chatted away with beggars, and spent hours upon hours planting flowers alongside the gardeners. She could see the exasperation on the king’s face and the disappointment in the queen’s eyes every time she returned to the palace with the hem of her gown brown with dirt and sweat plastering her hair and making it stick out in odd ends. Rose would never be the princess, the daughter, they wanted. 

The second note was for Philip explaining why she couldn’t be with him. If she could not survive as a princess, she never would as his queen. She watched what her mother did day in and out, sitting quietly embroidering elaborate patterns into miles and miles of unending fabric. Rose asked once what the queen was doing, and she said she was making a tablecloth. Later, when Rose asked again when she saw the queen begin a new project, she said she was now decorating some curtains. To Rose’s disappointment, it was always a tablecloth, curtain, bedspread, or pillow that needed to be decorated. It was an unending chore where Rose joined her mother and spent hours hunched over her thread and needle until it felt as if her back would break and her eyes would stay permanently crossed. She could take no more. 

It tore her heart to write the letter to Philip, but if she was to be free of the royal life, she would need to be free of him as well. She kissed the letter before sealing it and disappearing into the night.


	2. Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

Maribelle watched the redheaded boy tuning his lute as she picked up the dirty bowls and mugs from a nearby table and carried them back to the counter. It was a little after noon and luncheon was slow as many of the villagers planned on coming to The Gray Stag later in the evening for the performance. The boy in the corner would be performing, an event that no one dared to miss. Maribelle sighed and Emile, the barkeep and tavern owner, smirked at her.

“No luck today lass?”

“He hasn’t even looked at me once,” she said with a pout. 

“Maybe he ain’t interested. I know it is hard to believe.” Maribelle blanched and Emile laughed a little harder. The boy looked up from the corner to see what was so amusing. Maribelle blushed brightly and slapped Emile across the arm with the dishrag she was using to wipe down the counters. “Go offer him another ale,” he said. “On the house. He would be dense not to understand your meaning.”

Maribelle quickly filled a clean mug and walked over to the table. She could feel Emile’s eyes, filled with amusement, bore down into the back of her head. 

“Another drink?” she asked. The young man who sat there, with the bright shock of curly red hair, light freckled face, was the most beautiful man that Maribelle had seen come through the tavern in a long while. Though the boy wasn’t tall, nor very old (he couldn’t have been much older than Maribelle’s own sixteen years), the boy had a look in his eyes that set him apart from any other young man that had come courting Maribelle in the last two years. His violet eyes were steady and serious, as if they looked upon the world with care and not with frivolity as other boys his age. It made him seem older, more mature, than his actual years. 

What set him apart the most was that he seemed completely disinterested in Maribelle. And, Maribelle knew that her glass did not lie. Her black hair was long and thick and curled at the ends and never tangled. Her eyes were a bright green and many men have said they reminded them of a warm, spring day. And, her best asset, she thought as she leaned forward towards Jacques, dipping low, were her plump breasts that she corseted tightly so that they pushed upwards and forward. Every man she served looked not at her face when they spoke to her. All except Jacques. He didn’t even look up from his lute as he strummed it idly, his eyes looking out of the window into the middle distance.

Maribelle frowned and leaned forward even more, her breasts straining against her blouse. “Jacques, would you like another drink?” Still no response. Did he not see her? She reached across the table as if to wipe some wet stain on the table though there was nothing there. 

Suddenly, Maribelle shrieked and tipped forward and onto Jacques’s lap. The ale she carried went flying across the table drenching them both. 

Jacques leaped to his feet, grabbing Maribelle by the shoulders and holding her away from him.

“I am so sorry,” Maribelle said as she heard an eruption of laughter coming from Emile across the room. 

“No, it’s okay,” Jacques said, his voice low. 

Maribelle reached for a clean dishrag tucked in her apron and began to wipe off Jacques’s tunic. Jacques snatched it away from her and finished himself, his face so red that it matched the hair on his head. Maribelle felt that hers must have burned even brighter. 

***

Rose swung her lute over her shoulder and headed out the tavern door. She was still sticky with ale, but beated a quick retreat instead of returning upstairs to her room to clean up. She had ignored the barmaid’s overtures all the past evening and this morning, but the latest stunt was too close. Rose breathed a sigh of relief when the barmaid made no mention of her taped down breasts.

It happened in every village she stopped at. Girls would throw themselves at her. In this case, quite literally. Rose smiled wryly at the thought. 

Despite being disguised as Jacques, men would also pursue her and it took a bit more effort to shake them loose. 

Rose took in a deep, cleansing breath. Pine Hollow was a small village in the country of Staiton near the border of both Liyonne and Valenris. As its namesake, the village was surrounded by pine trees, creating a sharp, clean scent that filled the air year round. The Fleur Chantante Circus, the performing troupe that Rose was formerly a member of, often traveled through Pine Hollow as it was known as a safe harbor for gypsies. They welcomed strangers, particularly performers, as they did not see much entertainment so far from the main road. 

It would be time to leave soon, go onto the next village or town. But, Rose found that after five years, her feet felt sluggish below her. For the first time, she did not know where to go. 

No, that wasn’t true. She knew where she needed to go. She was just too much of a coward to do so.

So she kept wandering from village to village, town to town, until, what? Until her death? Rose shook her head. No, it won’t come to that. I will find my courage before then.

The dark mood was unusual for Rose. Most days, she found joy in playing, in performing for the villagers or whatever audience she could gather with her lute, bringing just a small bit of music and magic into their lives. But, today, she couldn’t stop thinking about Philip and what could have been.

It was because Emile had told her that the king and queen had given birth to a baby boy. A prince. She could have been that queen. The boy could have been her child, the heir to the throne. She felt a pang of regret in her heart. The whole kingdom was rejoicing except for her.

Rose shouldered her lute and turned to glimpse a gaggle of girls waving coyishly at her from across the plaza. Rose groaned inwardly but smiled back and gave them a small wave before making her way to them. The girls squealed in delight as she approached. It didn’t do to upset the customer.

***

Maric whistled at the bartender. The older man frowned and walked over. “Another one?”

Maric grinned widely. He knew he had one too many but it was a day of celebration. He had killed a nest of giant rats that were eating all the chickens and goats and terrorized one child from a farm just outside Pine Hollow. The farmer whose child was maimed prostrated himself in front of Maric in thanks, but could not provide any coin as a reward. Instead, Maric left with a bag of potatoes, enough to feed him for three days.

It was better than nothing. 

The bartender poured him another mug of warm ale. To his delight earlier, it had the hint of something sweet like elderberry honey unlike the swill that tasted of piss in many of the other taverns he patronized over the years. It was delicious, but after the fifth mug, he could barely tell how it tasted anymore.

The Gray Stag tavern and inn was the only of its kind in Pine Hollow. The village was too small and too far from the main road to cater to more than a few travelers at a time. From Maric’s best guess, there were probably four rooms upstairs for guests and the innkeeper probably used at least one of them for storage during the low season. 

Maric didn’t have enough coin to stay at the inn, and had already made arrangements of his own for the evening. He felt the lightheadedness that was a sure sign that he was becoming inebriated. Too much ale on an empty stomach. But, he had to watch his spending carefully and ale was cheaper than food. With enough of it, he would forget about the hunger soon enough. Maric smiled widely and the barkeep looked at him askance probably wondering if he would have to carry him out at closing time. 

Maric turned around in his stool and pushed his back up against the counter. The main floor of the building consisted of the tavern. Several wooden tables and chairs were strewn around the floor haphazardly. A few men were drinking and talking loudly in the corner, every once and a while casting a curious eye at Maric and the broadsword he had leaning up against the counter, though none approached him. The counter, where Maric sat, was made of a single long piece of a tree, cut down smooth on one side and stained dark. It shone brightly in the candlelight and Maric could tell that Emile took great care in it.

It was covered in knicks and scratches from use over the decades and errant names of lovers carved into it. A Willem and Clara had their names carved with a heart encircling it and Maric wondered idly if they were still together. The building, like the rest of those in the village, were most likely built with pinewood from the trees surrounding the village. A large head of a gray stag was mounted over the front door, which when questioned, the barkeep, Emile, said his great grandfather hunted down nearly five decades ago. Apparently, Emile’s great grandfather spent nearly a month chasing down the stag, which ended in a life and death struggle between man and beast. Maric sipped politely from his ale while he listened with half an ear to the tall tale. 

Around sunset, the tavern began to fill up with the locals. Men, women, and children began crowding the tavern floor, all dressed in their best, which consisted of starched white shirts for the men and simple cotton gowns for the women. Some of the women, Maric noticed, braided late blooming flowers in their hair or their caps. There would be no jewels here.

It was a small village, probably only about ten to twenty families in all, with another five or six who lived outside of town. Everyone was either a farmer, sheep and goat herder, baker, or tavern owner (in this case, the tavern owner also operated the town’s only inn). There was a mayor, but nothing quite as official as a bigger town. The mayor was also the town doctor, and Maric was sure, performed many other miscellaneous tasks as well. Fabienne was young for a leader of the locals. She was no older than in her mid-thirties if it was Maric’s best guess. And, her best quality was that she was a widow. Her husband, from what Maric had learned, was a tradesman and died in an ambush by bandits two winters ago. His loss, Maric’s gain. 

Fabienne had invited him to stay over at her house in town for the night. She left him a key to use after night fell and the villagers went home. When she pressed the cold metal into his hand, she had leaned in close so that Maric had an eyeful of what was just under her bodice. 

Maric looked down at his mug which was already half empty. He would need to slow down if he wanted to be conscious enough to enjoy Fabienne later in the evening. She would be at the tavern herself tonight. Apparently, a traveling bard was also visiting, causing quite the commotion. The village rarely had any visitors and on this day, they had two.

***

It was close to eight in the evening when Maric saw a redheaded boy descend the staircase and onto the main floor of the tavern with a lute slung over his shoulder. He couldn’t quite make out what the boy looked like, but a hush fell on the room. 

“Jacques Aguillard here played for King Stefan and Queen Leah of Liyonne last year during the midsummer festival,” Emile whispered to Maric. “He comes by every time he is in the area to play for us. None of us ever miss a single performance. Well, Old Quincey was sick once with the flu. Something terrible, was puking up his insides all week, and he still dragged himself out of bed to hear Jacques play.”

“I take it that the boy is good,” Maric replied. 

Emile snickered. “Just listen.”

The boy went to stand on a makeshift stage made by pushing two large tables together, so that he could be seen above audiences’ heads. There weren’t enough seats for everyone, but it didn’t matter because as soon as Jacques descended the stairs, everyone stood. The children sat on the shoulders of their fathers, the elderly stood feebly on their feet until someone pushed some chairs together up front for them to sit in. 

The tavern filled with whispers of anticipation while the boy tuned his lute. When he was finished, he looked up and Maric caught his first clear look at the boy.

His first thought was the boy was beautiful. Not handsome, but beautiful. From across the room, the boy’s hair sparkled like fire, golden at the roots, and bright fiery red at its ends. His hair was curled in large loops around his head, and when he reached up to run his fingers through it, Maric could have sworn he heard every woman in the room sigh. The boy had a heart-shaped face with a small, but full lips that any woman would have envied. But, the most striking feature was his eyes. They were the color of true violets in full bloom. 

Maric could see why the women in the room were taken with the boy. He felt a little uncomfortable himself. 

The boy looked around the room with a small, shy smile. “I would like to play something new, if that is okay with everyone.”

There was a rush of yes’s. 

And, when the boy strummed his first chord and opened his mouth to sing, Maric discovered that everything around him disappeared.

***

Rose sang a song she had written about a mermaid who loved a man and how when she became human to be with him, he betrayed her by taking another. It was a ballad that she had worked on all last summer and it was her first night performing it. She was pleased by all the wet eyes she saw in the crowd afterwards. Then, she sang a funny one about a princess and a frog. This one ended with the frog being revealed to be a prince that was cursed, but a kiss from the princess transformed him back to his human self. They, of course, lived happily ever after. 

She sang a few others before taking requests from the crowd. Every town or village wanted to hear their local songs, ones about farmers and their wives, chickens coming home to roost, and the beauty of spring and the harshness of winter. Later in the evening, when the children were taken home for bed, Rose sang some dirty limericks, which caused an uproar of laughter to burst through the windows. 

And, at the end of the night, she always sang the one song that changed her life. The one that set her down the path of a traveling bard. 

She sang the story of Sleeping Beauty.

***

Maric sat transfixed throughout the night. When the boy started singing, Maric was taken aback by surprise. His voice was light and airy, and then dark and heavy, and everything in between. It floated amongst the heavens and brought tears of joy into Maric’s eyes or it fell low and dark and brought tears of sadness. But, when the boy began to sing the song of Sleeping Beauty, Maric felt strange, as if the song was calling out to him. The boy did not look up from his lute as he played. But, when it was over, he did and Maric was surprised to see tears streaming down the boy’s face. 

If it was an act, it was a good one.

The night ended with Emile standing at the door with a coffer. Villagers dropped coins into the small box and it clinked loudly enough that Maric could hear it from across the room. He guessed that the boy split the profits with the tavern keeper for room and board and for arranging the performance. But, based on how many clinks he heard, the boy would make enough to keep his belly full and a roof over his head for several weeks.

Maric whistled low. The boy was making much more than he did at killing monsters. 

Maybe I should take a turn at the bard business, Maric thought wryly to himself. 

***

After putting her lute away upstairs in the room she rented, Rose returned to the main tavern floor. Only one man remained at the counter. The rest of the villagers had already traveled home for the night. It was nearly midnight and many would be awake in a handful of hours before sunrise to tend to their farms. Though they indulged in a night of entertainment, the peasants of Pine Hollow did not have the luxury to sleep in the next day. There were always clothes to mend and stalls to muck out. 

The man at the counter looked familiar, his hair long and in a bad need of a haircut, a thick beard that was a darker color than his light brown hair on his head, nearly black, and his crooked nose that looked to have been broken sometime in the past. Maybe broken a few times, Rose thought. A bright red scar ran from his left eyebrow down to his jaw. Rose winced as she resisted touching her own face. The cut was deep. He was lucky he hadn’t lost his eye.

He must have been a handsome man once. 

Emile stopped wiping the portion of the counter before him and waved at Rose. On the counter, she saw a bowl of stew and her stomach rumbled loudly. The man raised an eyebrow. Rose flushed and sat down on the stool next to him.

“An excellent show again, Jacques. Made my heart sing, truly,” Emile said, filling up a large mug of ale and placing it in front of her. “On the house as usual.” The man looked enviously at the mug and Rose noticed that his own was empty. Her throat was dry from the performance and she took a large gulp before turning her attention to the stew in front of her.

“Thank you, Emile. It is always a pleasure to play in Pine Hollow,” Rose said between bites. She could still feel the man’s stare on her, but ignored him. It was not the first time she has caught a man staring even though she was disguised as a man herself. She was blessed with beauty after all and it was something that men and women were transfixed by. Every village or town she passed through, Rose spent more time than she would like rebuffing advances from people of all ages, shapes, and sexes. And, by the way the man stared at her, she felt she would need to again soon. Rose kept two daggers tucked into her belt and one in her boot for just the occasion.

Luckily, Emile was present and she was confident that she would not need to resort to violence. 

***

Maric turned his attention back to Emile who moved on to arranging the wooden mugs behind the counter.

“Any news?” Maric found that the person in every village and town that had their ear closest to the ground was always the barkeep. They spent hours each day talking to people and tended to know things well before the criers did. Most of it was shameless gossip, but every once and awhile, Maric would discover a nugget of some interest. 

“The queen gave birth to a…”

Maric cut him off with a grunt. To his surprise, the boy also grunted in disgust as well. “Not gossip. Real news. Any rumors of attacks in the area?”

The boy turned to him with interest, his soup spoon stopped in midair between his bowl and his mouth. “You’re Maric the Monster Hunter,” the boy whispered in awe.

Maric ignored the boy while Emile looked at Maric with renewed interest. “Monsters, you say?” He tapped his chin theatrically as if really giving Maric’s question some serious thought. “No goblins, not that I have heard. But, there have been some mysterious disappearances out east. Mostly livestock, chickens and the odd sheep or goat. Most people think it might be a fox or a wolf.”

Maric slouched down disappointed. “Most likely is.”

“But, Old Matthieu came in the other day and said that his neighbor, Samuel, found the strangest thing in his chicken coop. All the chickens were there all right, but all the eggs were black as coal. Every single egg. He didn’t dare eat them and took them into the forest to be buried. The next day, the eggs in the coop were back to white. Didn’t know what that meant, but was odd, truly.”

“Yes, that is very strange. Do you know the location of the farm?”

“Well, Matthieu lives about ten miles off east. Samuel’s farm is nearby. A large windmill on property, you can’t miss it. I don’t know his neighbor, but you can ask Matthieu himself about the story.”

***

The boy said nothing more while Maric indulged himself and ordered another mug of ale and downed it one long swallow. It was getting late and it wouldn’t do to keep Fabienne waiting much longer. As he pushed aside the large wooden doors of the tavern, he felt a tug at his cloak. He wasn’t surprised to find the boy standing there behind him. A sliver of moonlight illuminated the boy’s eager face.

“I want to come with you.”

“To Fabienne’s?” Maric asked, his head feeling light and swimmy under the boy’s watchful gaze. His eyes are truly violet, Maric thought, too beautiful to be wasted on a boy.

The boy snorted. It was light and delicate like the boy’s features. “No, of course not. I want to come with you when you go see Old Matthieu. And, I want to go with you to whatever you do afterwards.”

“Why?” Maric asked, suddenly suspicious. The boy looked innocent enough. He was thin, though not in the sickly sense. Under the tunic and cloak, Maric suspected the boy was fast and nimble. His fingers were as much when he played the lute. They danced across the strings faster than anything Maric could follow with his eyes. If the boy did try to cut his throat while he slept, Maric wouldn’t stand a chance. 

But, then again, why would the boy do such a thing? Maric didn’t have two coppers to rub together. He spent the last of it on ale tonight instead of bread and cheese and other things he direly needed, like a new set of boots, and he sniffed, a bath. He was forced to sell his horse months ago just to survive. 

It was as the boy read his thoughts. “I have money. I can pay you. And, I can make more of it on the road. Every town likes to be entertained for an evening or two.”

“You didn’t answer my question, boy.”

“Jacques,” the boy corrected.

“Jacques. Fine, but why do you want to come with me?”

“Because I am tired of singing about love stories and happily ever afters.”

***

Silence fell between them. Rose flushed deeply and hoped the shadows hid her face. The monster hunter, Maric Landry, stood there and just stared at her and Rose felt uncomfortable under his gaze. She had heard of him through her travels. He had become quite a legend amongst Staiton and Valenris for, well, slaying monsters. It was just last week when she heard a tale of him killing a dragon out in the Wilderwoods, though how much of it was true, she did not know. But, it was a great story, and that was what she was after. 

Finally, Maric broke the silence. “So, you want to sing about slaying monsters?”

“I want to sing about heroes.”

Maric grunted and crossed his arms. “I’m no hero.”

Rose looked Maric up and down. He was leaning heavily to one side from too much drink. Rose had already accounted his face as being ugly from all the scars and bruises. His clothes were ill-fitting and dirty. And, she could smell him from several feet away. It was musky and masculine and he stank of it.

No, he was no hero, Rose thought. He certainly didn’t look like one, which made him perfect. Who didn’t love a story where a rogue turned into a shining knight in armor? Rose smiled and she saw Maric look at her warily. “You will do.”

“How old are you?” he said.

“One and twenty.” Instantly, Rose mentally admonished herself for revealing her true age. Disguised as Jacques she knew she didn’t appear any older than sixteen. And, it didn’t seem Maric believed her either.

Maric sniffed in disbelief and leaned in close to her face, scrutinizing it. “And, not one whisker. Pity.”

Rose took a step back. “That’s none of your concern.”

Maric grunted again. “Can you fight?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you good with a sword? Knife? Anything besides your lute? I expect you wouldn’t want to damage that.”

Rose stood up straight. “I can handle myself.”

“Can you?” Maric rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. It was a large broadsword that hung off of his waist and looked no different than the ones Rose had seen being peddled at many weapon shops. “I won’t be coming to save you if a mob of orcs drag you off.”

“I said I can handle-”

The point of Maric’s sword dug into her neck and pressed her up against the tavern. His eyes held hers and Rose was shocked to see how clear they were. Rose’s mind stuttered trying to figure out how he could move so quickly. He reeked of alcohol as if he wasn’t just drinking it but bathed in it and was barely standing up on both feet. 

“Can you? I could gut you now and steal all your coin,” he said. “I bet your lute would fetch a pretty penny too. I wouldn’t need you dogging my steps for the next couple of days. I can take what you are offering right now.” Maric blinked twice and pushed back. Before he could sheath his sword, Rose leapt out of the shadows with two daggers slashing into the air, knocking back Maric’s sword and causing him to fall back a few steps.

Maric smiled widely. “That is more like it.” He thrust forward with his sword, clashing it loudly against Rose’s knives, which she crossed in front of herself to prevent Maric’s blade from coming down on her head. She pushed back hard causing her knives to spark brightly against his sword until Maric fell back again. He came at her with large, but precise, swings forcing Rose to hop back until she found herself pressed against the side of the tavern. She knew he had her pinned, but planted her feet and shoved off the side of the building, flinging herself at him and ramming her shoulder into his chest. For a second of panic, she didn’t think he would fall. It felt as if she threw herself into a brick wall, but Maric caught her in his arms and they both tumbled over into the dirt. 

Rose found her head laying across his chest, their limbs entwined, and pushed off quickly. She grabbed his sword with both hands and held the point to his throat. Maric chuckled in the darkness.

“Help me up, boy,” he said. Rose threw his sword away from them in case it was a trap before bending over and helping Maric to his feet. He was a good foot taller than she was and twice as wide. His shoulders were broad and Rose could feel the tightness of the muscles that laid just beneath the ill fitting armor he wore. She resisted the urge to run her fingers along his chest and down to his narrow waist and wondered idly what he looked like naked. Like a Sakoraan god, she imagined. When he stood she suddenly realized that she was playing with fire. 

“Meet me tomorrow outside the tavern. I think mid-morning. We will head out to the farm then,” he said. 

Rose nodded, but stood watching him until he gathered his sword and walked away into the darkness. She could feel the night air charge with electricity. 

This man is very dangerous, Rose thought. What was I thinking?


	3. Chapter Two

Dark shadows danced across the stone walls and Maric had to bite down on his tongue to keep from screaming. Laughter cackled loudly through the darkness. Something uncoiled behind him, snapping as it hit the floor. 

A flash of pain and a scream was all Maric remembered before waking. He tumbled out of bed, his breathing labored.

“What’s wrong?” a voice asked, muffled with sleep. Maric stood, his naked body glistening with cold sweat despite the heat of the fire in the room. He shivered until the arm reached out and pulled him close. He looked down to see Fabienne, her blond tousled hair framing her face, her blue eyes wide with concern.

“What’s wrong, Maric?” she repeated.

“Nothing. A bad dream is all.” The same dream that had plagued for months after his accident years ago. He thought he was free of them. It had been years since he dreamt of them last. 

Until tonight. He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand until the ache began to dissipate.

Fabienne stood and the blanket that covered her fell to the floor. Maric discovered that she was naked as well. Fabienne was gifted with the body of a goddess. Her breasts were large and topped with rose-colored nipples. Her blond hair, her crowning glory, hung down in waves to her waist. A rush of memories of what they did only hours before replaced any traces of the nightmare. 

“Come back to bed,” Fabienne said as she lightly traced her fingers across his chest and down lower between his legs until he gasped. 

Maric smiled and fell into her.

*** 

It was nearly dawn when Maric woke again. Fabienne was deep asleep in the crook of his arm, her face nestled against his chest. Maric moved slowly under her until his arm was free. She murmured quietly but did not wake. 

Silently, Maric began to dress. He poked the fire in the hearth until it was bright again before leaving Fabienne. He would see her in a few months time, but he knew she would not wait for him. Fabienne kept busy enough without him. Despite all the tender caresses and soft whispers, Maric knew that he wasn’t the only man to warm her bed. And, he didn’t hold it against her. She wasn’t the only one who warmed his either.

Maric opened the front door and slipped out into the cold morning. The sun had yet to rise and a deep fog covered the village. Maric smiled to himself. The boy would still be in bed at the inn and wouldn’t wake until Maric was long gone from the village. He pursed his lips and whistled softly to himself, but stopped abruptly when he realized that it was to the tune of the Sleeping Beauty ballad the boy sang the night before. 

He pushed open the gate of Fabienne’s small garden and stepped onto the dirt covered street.

“Good morning.”

Maric jolted, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword. The boy stepped out of the fog like a ghost. Trailing behind him were two horses ladened with supplies.

“What are you doing here so early? I told you to meet me in front of the tavern at ten.”

“What are you doing up so early yourself?” the boy said, turning the question back on Maric. “You weren’t thinking about leaving me behind?”

Maric ground his teeth and frowned. It was precisely what he was thinking. “Well, now that you’re here, we might as well get an early start.” Maric’s stomach rumbled loudly. The boy shoved a packet into his hand and when Maric opened it he discovered a roll stuffed with ham and cheese inside. “You’re making me breakfast now too?” Maric said between bites.

“You are my muse. I need you to be healthy and fit for the adventure ahead.” 

Maric growled and considered throwing the roll onto the ground but he was surprised to find it all gone. Instead, he crumpled the paper and threw it, but it didn’t have quite the effect he had hoped for as it got caught in the wind and flew away into the nearest tree. The boy scowled and went to retrieve it.

“You need not litter,” the boy said when he returned, tucking the paper away in one of the satchels on the horse. 

“And, I am not your kept man, your pet. I can look after myself.”

The boy arched an eyebrow. “So you do not need my money?”

“No, I have survived long without it and I am sure I can continue to do so.” Maric watched the boy out of the corner of his eye. The boy looked thoughtful for a second before placing his boot into the stirrup and swung himself on top of one of the horses. 

“Then, I will meet you at the farm.” The boy kicked and the horse galloped off, it’s mate following close behind. Maric cursed. It would be a long walk to the farm, one that he could have travelled comfortably on the back of a horse. Maric looked longingly into the fog where the boy disappeared. It had been months since he ridden a horse. Maric cursed again, loudly enough to scare a flock of chickens in a nearby coop. 

***

Men are more stubborn than mules, Rose thought unkindly. Especially Maric. She laughed to herself when she thought back to the look on his face when she rode off. He had been about to reach for one of the horses himself before she took off with them both. Let him walk, she thought. Let him starve. He needed her money as much as she needed him. It was a day’s ride to the farm. Longer on foot. 

Rose slowed the horse down to a trot when she knew she had put enough distance between them. Sighing loudly, Rose leaned forward to pet Daffodil on the nose. Rose had purchased both Daffodil and her mate, Clover, this morning from the stablemaster in town when she went to inquire about Maric’s horse. When she learned that he did not have one stabled there and that the stableboy said he had seen Maric walk into town the other day, Rose bought two horses for the journey. Even though it would only be a day’s walk to the farmhouse, Rose was hoping that she could use the horse as leverage so that Maric would allow her to join him after they figured out what happened at the farmhouse. 

Rose slowed the horse to a stop. 

Because she feared that Maric was right all along, that he wouldn’t need her money, and that would leave her with… what? Nothing, again. Just traveling aimlessly from one village to another. The feeling of being lost was unbearable. 

Rose gritted her teeth. No, Maric would come back, crawling. Rose smiled at the image of Maric, a large man as he is, on hand and knees begging her for her forgiveness for his rudeness. Well, he would be too proud to crawl. But, he would be walking. She hoped his feet would be sore by the time he caught up with her.

***

Maric swore again as he pulled a pebble out of his boot. His leather boots, though old, were sturdy and nearly up to his knees, yet, defying all possibilities, he fished out pebbles every few steps. The boy would be able to afford new boots, Maric grumbled to himself. 

He had walked all morning without a sign of the boy and he wondered if Jacques would be true to his word and meet him at the house. Maric hoped not for many reasons. The least of which was that his feet were getting tired and he was hungry. The sun was high in the sky burning off the fog hours ago. And, Maric neglected to fill his waterskin before he left Pine Hollow. 

His throat was scratchy with thirst. 

Maric cursed the boy again. He is going to be a problem, Maric thought. The boy was pampered. He had handled those knives nicely, enough to ward off the run-of-the-mill ruffians, but against a true monster, the boy wouldn’t stand a chance. Maric just hoped that Jacques would listen to him when the time came. He can’t watch both of their asses.

After rounding another corner on the path, Maric’s hopes fell. The boy wasn’t lying, he didn’t intend to wait for Maric. Maric looked up at the horizon. The sun burned high in the sky and there was still no sign of a windmill. 

***

The sun was beginning to set when Maric reached the windmill. The barkeep was right, it would have been hard to miss. The windmill was constructed out of gray stone and rose high above the treeline. For the past mile, Maric walked towards it, a beacon in the setting sun. 

“I was wondering when you would arrive,” Jacques said, putting his lute aside. Maric heard the faint strumming of the lute before exiting the woods, a reassuring sign that Jacques was safe. Maric grunted, not that the boy’s safety was any of his concern. 

“How long have you been here?”

“Two hours at most.” Jacques looked towards the farmhouse. “I knocked on the door, but there was no answer.”

Maric followed Jacques’s gaze and saw the lone farmhouse sitting on top of a small hill. It was dark, as he had expected. Whatever lived in there now wasn’t alive anymore. “No there wouldn’t be,” Maric said. “We need to make camp. It’s too late to get started now. And, we need to get away from here. It’s not safe.”

Jacques sat up with alarm. “What do you mean? We just arrived. Shouldn’t we stay inside the farmhouse at least?”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Maric looked into the woods that he just stepped out of. It wouldn’t be any safer in the forest tonight either. There would be a full moon and strange things happened during a full moon. 

He turned his attention to a barn standing alone across a field of wheat. “We can sleep in there tonight.”

“Why not the farmhouse?” Jacques repeated. 

Maric ignored the boy and took the reins of the horse closest to him and began making his way to the barn. It was eerily quiet, no birds chirping in the air, no chickens clucking in the pen. Maric cast an eye around the farm and to his dismay he did not see one cow, goat, or horse. Nothing stirred amongst the fields. 

He wasn’t surprised when he opened the barn doors to find it empty. 

***

Rose pouted to herself. There was a warm farmhouse just across the field with what she would assume would have nice soft beds, food, and hot water for a bath. It didn’t help her mood that Maric ignored her as he methodically went from stall to stall checking every dark corner. The barn was empty, but clean and smelled of fresh hay. 

“What are you afraid of finding?”

“Nothing.”

Rose snorted. Maric returned to where she sat in the middle of the barn. They had put Daffodil and Clover in two of the cleanest stalls and found fresh hay for them both. Maric went to fill their troughs with fresh water from the well, but told Rose to stay put. Night had fallen. 

“Nothing is what I am afraid of. Have you ever been to a farm that had no animals? No horses, cows, goats, or chickens?”

Rose stilled, a prickle of fear crept up her back. “No… do you think something is wrong?”

“Yes.” They couldn’t start a fire in the barn. It would be unsafe with all the dry hay and wood, but Maric said they could not because it would draw the attention of someone or something else. When Maric would say no more, Rose went to the saddlebags and took out a loaf of bread, aged yellow cheese, and dried meat. They ate supper in silence before going to bed.

Maric fell asleep quickly, from what Rose could hear. She laid awake listening to the night. It was quiet, far too quiet. Not even a breath of wind could be heard rustling through the trees. Shivering, she found herself moving closer to Maric.

***

Maric woke with the faint light of dawn to find Jacques spooned down along the right side of his body. The boy’s right hand rested on Maric’s chest and one of his legs was thrown over his. Maric gently lifted Jacques’s arm and set it down to his side and did the same with his leg. He smiled wryly to himself at how embarrassed Jacques would be if he were awake. 

Maric looked down at Jacques’s face. There was a smattering a light freckles across his pale skin, the only blemish if one would consider it a blemish. Maric did not and thought it only enhanced his beauty. His hair was short and curled naturally and was a bright red that reminded Maric of a rose in full bloom. And, his lips were pursed as if expecting a kiss. 

Maric’s eyes fell to Jacques’s lips, as if they were unwillingly drawn there, when Jacques woke and screamed, slapping Maric across the face so loudly that it resounded through the empty barn.

***

Rose dreamt about dreaming, if there were such a thing. In her dream, she was laying in the tower in her father’s castle in a bed so warm and soft that it felt as if she was floating on a cloud. A cool spring breeze blew through the window. She felt a hand stroke her cheek and brush across her lips. And, then there was a kiss, so soft and light that she wished there was more of it. She felt a hunger in her awaken, a desperate desire that she did not know existed until that moment. 

The kiss woke her and she opened her eyes to see him… her Philip.

Only, Rose woke and saw an ugly face hovering over hers, and she screamed.

***

“How dare you!”

“How dare I? You were the one wrapped around me this morning,” Maric said standing and gingerly touching his cheek. He felt a bruise forming. It had been a long time since he was slapped last and never by a male.

“I would never do such a thing,” Jacques said, standing himself and fiddling nervously with his tunic. Maric watched curiously as Jacques smoothed down the front of his tunic several times. 

“Well, you did.”

Maric could feel Jacques glare through the back of his skull as he stuffed his bedroll into the saddlebag. “Since you’re awake, we might as well make an early start. You want your adventure or not?” 

All Maric heard was Jacques noisily getting ready for the day ahead.


	4. Chapter Three

The sun was rising quickly in the sky as Rose paced impatiently waiting for Maric. She was eager to begin. Even though she had only spent a day in Maric’s company, lyrics and tunes were swirling around madly in her head. Rose felt the fluttering excitement that this would be her best work yet. 

They left the horses in the barn. Maric said they were safer in there than out in the open. He made a show of barricading the barn doors. He had spent the last hour doing so, with Rose assisting whenever he asked, which wasn’t much. 

“What do you think will happen?” she asked. 

“That we come back to two dead horses. Worse, that whatever killed them is still here.”

Rose felt a shudder pass through her. “But, we will find the monster first, right?”

Maric turned to the woods. “I hope.” He glanced at Rose and scowled. “What are you holding?”

Rose had a scroll in one hand and a quill in the other. The inkpot was tucked away safely in her pocket, cushioned by rags to prevent the glass from breaking. “I plan on taking notes,” she said, flourishing the quill in her hand. 

Maric grunted. “You will be lucky to be alive by the day’s end. Don’t forget why we are really here.” He pushed one last barrel into place before stepping back. The entrance of the barn was blocked by all manner of wooden pallets, barrels, wheelbarrows, and farm tools. It didn’t look like it would hold much back, but Rose kept that to herself. 

“My ballad.”

“No, to kill a monster.”

***

It was a cold morning, the air piercing Maric’s nostrils with each breath and burning his lungs. The days would be colder from here on out, Maric thought, and the night’s worse. They were deep into fall and moving quickly into winter. The trees had already shed most of their leaves, which crunched softly under their boots. It was the only sound they heard, which chilled him more than any cold fall wind could.

They had left Samuel’s farm and were walking deep into the surrounding woods. Maric remembered what the barkeep in Pine Hollow had said. That Samuel had buried a clutch of eggs, black as coal, in the woods. Maric needed to see these for himself to confirm his fear. 

The barricade he created around the barn wouldn’t hold for long. If what I think is haunting these woods is true, Maric thought. He hoped it wasn’t. Despite his sword, he was ill equipped. He would need a whole army behind him to fight what was coming.

Instead, he had a bard. Maric smiled grimly to himself. Jacques had the audacity to accuse him of trying to steal a kiss, or much worse. His cheek still felt tender but he would be damned before he checked to see if there was a bruise there. Hopefully there was to remind the boy of his humiliation.

After Jacques calmed down, he seemed almost apologetic, fixing them a cold breakfast of 

stale bread and cheese and hot mint tea. Though, Maric heard no apology and wasn’t holding his breath for one. The boy was stubborn as a mule and Maric feared he would continue to dog his steps for many more days to come.

“You’re not my type anyway,” Maric said, breaking the silence around them and startling himself. He startled Jacques too, who was looking at the woods with interest as if trying to memorize every detail. Maric had forbidden him from bringing the scroll and quill with them and instead was happy to see that the boy had his hands ready on the hilt of his knives. 

“You don’t like redheads?” Jacques said.

“I don’t like boys.” Jacques flushed at that. “You like what you like,” Maric continued. “But, I 

can’t return your affections.” 

Jacques sputtered, his face reddening. “I wasn’t expecting you to. I mean, I’m not attracted to you either.” Maric turned suddenly causing Jacques to stop short right behind him. Maric hadn’t realized that Jacques was walking so close, his steps were so light that his boots seemed to barely touch the ground, and now he found him chest to chest with Jacques. Jacques’s violet eyes crackled with anger and Maric found himself falling deep into them. They were beautiful, truly the boy’s best feature. When the boy laughed, they were light as lilacs, and when he was angry, like he was now, they were dark as the heart of a storm. Maric’s eyes dropped to his lips and Jacques’s tongue darted out and licked them nervously. Maric wondered how they tasted. 

“I… I don’t like men either,” Jacques said as he stepped around Maric and continued walking. 

Maric just shrugged and turned back around, but felt his heart beating hard against his chest as if he just ran miles upon miles. 

He took in a deep, ragged breath and unclenched his fists and followed Jacques deeper into the woods. 

*** 

It didn’t take long for them to find the black eggs that Samuel had buried, or what remained of them. Egg shells as dark as obsidian were strewn all around the forest clearing. Rose stepped carefully into the opening, followed by Maric.

“The damned fool buried them too close to the farm. And,” Maric looked at the hole that Samuel must have dug. It wasn’t even half a foot deep. “Not nearly deep enough.”

“Is it what you suspected?” Rose asked as Maric picked up a shell. She did the same. It was thick, much thicker than a regular chicken egg. And, from the piece that she held, which was the size of her hand, the eggs were much, much bigger. It reminded her of an egg that Athena had bought once when they traveled through the Golden Desert. Athena traded three barrels of water for an egg the size of Rose’s head. The egg shell was white, different than the one Rose held now. It took Athena several strikes with a hammer to crack the egg open and the whole caravan ate omelets for breakfast that morning. 

Rose had asked Athena what laid eggs that large. Athena grinned, her teeth sharp, and said griffins. 

Now, Rose held the black shell up to the sunlight. It glistened, as if covered with thousands of tiny diamonds. “It’s beautiful.”

“And, it’s worth a fortune,” Maric swore and dropped the shell he held. “It’s a basilisk egg. Eggs,” he corrected, standing up and narrowing his eyes. He peered into the shadowed woods around them. “It is used in potions.”

Rose followed suit. The forest floor was covered in egg shells. There must have been at least a dozen. And, they all hatched.

It wasn’t until that moment that Rose noticed all the toads. Their dark brown and black speckled skin camouflage them perfectly among the fallen leaves. They sat silently watching Maric and her with their bright yellow eyes. Rose swallowed and backed up out of the clearing. Maric, noticing the toads, did the same. 

The toads’ eyes followed their movement, but they did not blink or croak. They did nothing at all but stare.

Rose whispered,“What are they waiting for?”

“Legend says that a basilisk is born from a cockerel and it is the toads that hatch them.” Rose’s fingers itched to write down what Maric said. Who had ever heard of such a thing?

In the distance, a high pitched scream shook Rose from her thoughts. “Daffodil!”

***

Rose ran after Maric as they crashed through the woods. Maric reached the barn first, his sword drawn. Rose clutched a knife in each hand but stopped abruptly when she saw what was attacking the barn.

Her first thought was that Maric was right to put up a barricade. Though, shoddy as it was, the barn door was still closed and the creatures were scratching along the edges trying to get inside. Rose could hear Clover and Daffodil crying out, their screams deafened by the excited screeches from the monsters. Maric had left the horses in their stalls and Rose could hear them banging against the barn walls trying to escape. What they didn’t know was that it was much worse outside than in.

Rose’s second thought was that the monsters were kind of cute. Several cat-sized creatures were frantically clawing at the edges of the barn with their feet, which were clawed like a chicken. They had the body and face of a chicken too, but something was strange. The feathers that she expected to see sprouted between large, glittery black scales. And, its most prominent feature was a snake-like tail that whipped back and forth violently. At the end was a sharp barb.

All the creatures stopped and turned to them when Maric bursted out of the woods with Rose closely following behind. 

“Watch out for the tail! It’s poisonous.” Maric shouted over his shoulder. The basilisks began 

charging at Maric and he rose his sword high and with one cleave cut three down. This seemed to enrage the others as a high, sharp screech pierced through the air as they jumped onto Maric as one. Rose rushed forward and swiped one off of him, the basilisk turned it’s glare at her and for a moment Rose froze.

Her whole body went numb and her fingers loosened, dropping the knives. She couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe. She tried to scream but only a soft strangled noise escaped her lips. 

Maric kicked the basilisk and Rose watched as it flew and smacked hard against the side of the barn. Instantly, she was freed and picked up her knives. “Don’t look into its eyes. They have some kind of power-” Another basilisk launched itself at Maric and he sliced down and hard, cutting it into two. The reptilian tail kept twitching as if trying to strike a foe it could not see. Rose danced backwards away from it.

Rose felt a fear grow inside her causing her to falter in her steps, but she was still able to cut two more down, spinning and kicking and slashing at the air, the basilisks falling in their steps around her. 

More came from the woods, following the screams of their siblings. Rose felt a strange stab of guilt. They were just babies. They were just animals. They didn’t know what they were doing.

In short order, there were only two basilisks left and they watched Maric and Rose warily from the top of the barn. They must be the smarter ones of the clutch, Rose thought. Despite being caught in the gaze of one, the fight against the basilisks was easier than Rose had thought it would be. Carcasses of the monsters were strewn around them. A quick glance at Maric and she could see that he was uninjured, though winded like herself. She gulped in a breath of fresh air. If Maric hadn’t killed the basilisk and freed her from its spell, she could have died. 

“Why don’t we just let them go?” 

Breathing hard, Maric said over at her. “We will need to kill them all. If we let them live, they will keep breeding until the whole area is overrun. And, we don’t want them to grow into adults. They become much-”

A dark shadow fell on them. Rose felt her skin prickle.

***

A terrifying screech rang in Maric’s ears. He turned quickly to see a basilisk nearly the size of the barn standing behind him. No wonder the smaller ones took shelter on the roof. This was their mother. Or father, to be exact.

“Run!” Maric yelled, pushing Jacques out of the way of the basilisk. The boy stumbled but then found his feet and ran off. Maric planted himself and clutched his sword with both hands. He kept his eyes lowered to the ground. If the young ones could freeze a person in their steps, an adult could paralyze them for life. 

Maric watched as the basilisk danced from one foot to another, it’s large orange beak thrusting forward towards him. He slashed away at each jab causing the basilisk to rear up in fury. Taking advantage of the moment, Maric threw himself towards the ground, slashing at the basilisk’s legs, which were as thick as a tree trunk. He cut away one of the basilisk’s claws, causing it to cry out in pain, and to stomp down violently.

Maric rolled away, the ground shaking underneath him, from the remaining claws, each one as long and as sharp as a dagger. The basilisk turned suddenly and swung its tail. The tail seemed to move independently of the rest of the beast, snapping back and forth in front of Maric’s face, it’s stinger stabbing into the ground around him and kicking up dirt into his face. With another wide swing, the basilisk’s tail knocked hard against Maric’s wrist, causing him to drop his sword. Another whip and his sword flew away into the heavy brush.

He had never faced a basilisk before. There were stories from other hunters and survivors, though none truly prepared him for this moment. It was more powerful and much faster than he had imagined. Each strike to the ground caused it to shake, leaving Maric unable to find his footing. He rolled beneath the monster’s feet and knew he could not keep evading the attacks forever.

Maric always knew that he would die this way- fighting some kind of monster. As he laid there with the basilisk’s tail whipping about in the air, he thought this was as good of a way to die as any other. His only regret was that he would die facing the backside of the beast. It was almost humiliating. He could see his tombstone now. Maric Landry the Monster Slayer. Death by Being Sat On By A Basilisk. 

At least the boy would have his ballad and I will live on in song, Maric smiled to himself wryly. The smile froze on his face as his eyes fell on a sight that turned his blood cold.

Jacques was screaming like a banshee and running at full speed at the basilisk with both knives raised. 

*** 

Rose watched from the farside of the field as the large basilisk attacked Maric. She cheered him on silently as he slashed away at the monster, but watched on in horror as his sword was knocked away. Without a second thought, Rose snatched both knives out of their sheaths and ran screaming across the field. The screaming caught the basilisk’s attention, and a brief glance upwards, she saw that the two younger ones were watching her with interest. She felt her feet begin to slow and tore her eyes away from them. 

Remember what Maric said, Rose hastily looked away. Don’t look them in the eyes. 

She was nearly at the basilisk when it reared up and stomped down hard causing the ground around them to shake. Rose fell, her knives skittering away as she hit the ground hard. She could taste blood in her mouth from where she bit her lip. The basilisk raised it’s clawed foot again and Rose curled up covering her face.

“You stupid boy!” She looked up to see Maric’s furious face rushing at her. He grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder and began running deep into the woods. Rose could hear the basilisk crashing through the trees behind them. 

“I told you to run!” Maric yelled as Rose bounced up and down against his shoulder. 

“You… needed… help!” she said between breaths. Even though she couldn’t see Maric’s face, she felt his glare. He was not a man that easily admitted when he needed help. 

“Now, you’re going to get us both killed.” They entered the clearing where they had found the basilisks’ egg shells. Maric tossed Rose to the ground, knocking the breath out of her chest for a moment. They could hear trees being uprooted. They didn’t have much time.

“We need a-” he began, scouring the area around them.

Rose dug into her boot and pulled out a knife, this one long and thin like a needle, and tossed it to Maric. He caught it deftly in one hand and raised an eyebrow before the basilisk burst through into the clearing, rearing up in a loud screech. Rose slapped her hands to her ears. 

***

I’ll need to ask him where he got this from, Maric thought, as he clutched the hilt of the stiletto knife in his hand. It was a rare weapon, one specially used by assassins. As Maric turned to face the basilisk, his skin crawled thinking about who he was turning his back to. What did he know about the boy? Only what Jacques and the barkeep had told him, which amounted really to nothing. He would have to have a long conversation with Jacques when they survive this- Maric watched as the basilisk reared up again, it’s talons glistening in the morning sunlight- if we survived this, he corrected. 

The knife was long and thin and glittered menacingly in the sun, but a poor replacement for his sword. He will have to get close to the beast to do any damage, much less kill it. With a quick glance over his shoulder, Maric was pleased to see Jacques hiding behind a large tree on the far side of the clearing. At least the boy learned his lesson. 

With this in mind, Maric threw himself at the basilisk, deftly evading each strike of the beast’s beak. The monster was enraged, its feathers standing on end, and its tail whipping back and forth in fury. It screeched loudly causing the forest floor below his feet to tremble. 

Maric closed the distance between them and thrust out the knife. The point of it disappeared into the feathers of the basilisk and it screamed out in pain, but when Maric pulled out, the wound seemed to disappear. Maric cursed to himself, it was an assassin’s weapon, which meant it was only really effective in one part of the body.

Maric looked back at the basilisk, but to his surprise, it wasn’t looking at him. It peered off to the trees and Maric briefly wondered what it was looking at when a sharp whistle of a rock flew by his head and hit the basilisk square in the beak. It cried out in anger and began rushing towards the trees. Maric saw Jacques waving at him and pointing at his own head before turning his attention back to the basilisk. Maric’s blood grew cold when he saw the boy go still and his hand limp, dropping a rock to the ground, as if transfixed.

Damn that boy!

Maric ran after the basilisk, but he was too late. The basilisk raised its tail and struck. Jacques went flying and crashed against a tree. He didn’t get back up. 

Maric pivoted in his tracks and ran over to Jacques as the basilisk followed close behind him. He could feel its hot breath on the back of his neck, but he reached Jacques first. Maric threw his body over the boy, flipped over quickly, and stabbed the basilisk through its cheek and into its brain- the only place the stiletto would be effective. The monster screamed out in pain, reeled, its large wings kicking up dried leaves and dirt into the air, and fell over dead.

Maric gasped out in pain and exhaustion as he went over the monster, which twitched violently. Maric lifted the knife and stabbed it again in the head a few times for good measure before returning to Jacques’s prone form. 

He was sure every bone in the boy’s body would be broken, but that wasn’t his greatest fear. If the boy was poisoned…

Maric’s eyes fell onto the boy’s leg. His trousers were sliced open and covered in blood.


	5. Chapter Four

Maric carried Jacques back to the farmhouse. The two remaining basilisks watched him balefully, but remained perched on top of the barn. Maric paid them no heed. If he didn’t dress Jacques’s wound, he would be at risk of getting an infection and dying. But, Maric only thought that to reassure himself. If Jacques was poisoned, he would be dead by morning. 

Fear gripped his chest as Maric ran up the steps of the house and kicked loudly at the door. There was no response inside, and he hadn’t expected there would be one. Throwing the boy over one shoulder, Maric braced himself and threw his weight against the door. By the third time, the door smashed open with Maric and Jacques tumbling through.

The room stank of rancid, decaying flesh, and Maric turned to find, who he assumed was Samuel, hunched over dead on the far side of the room. His face was thin, starved, and his eyes wide and filled with fear as if trying to jump out of his skull. 

Maric knew instantly that the old farmer had been trapped in his own house as the basilisks outside devoured each and every animal and farm hand until there was not a trace of them left. How Samuel escaped their notice, Maric didn’t know. But, it didn’t matter anyhow as Samuel probably soon realized his mistake of barricading himself inside his house. 

Maric looked down at the empty jars littered about the room. Samuel had run out of food and water and starved to death. 

Maric carried Jacques to the bed, which was surprisingly clean, though everything permeated with the smell of death. He tore the leg off of Jacques’s trousers and saw that the cut wasn’t as deep as he had thought. It wouldn’t need stitches. But, it was red and angry, and Maric feared the worse. He took his waterskin and washed the wound and tore strips of the bed sheet to bandage it. He leaned back to examine his handiwork. It was the best he could do for now.

Maric gingerly ran his hand up and down Jacques’s head and body to check for any broken bones. The basilisk had thrown the boy against a tree, and the sound of Jacques’s body crumbling against it still resounded loudly in Maric’s ears. 

He started with the boy’s legs and feet, tugging Jacques’s boots free and throwing them aside, which, besides the large cut on his right thigh, both seemed uninjured. He ran his hands down the boy’s torso and chest. He debated about undressing the boy for a closer look, but the last thing he wanted was for Jacques’s to awaken and accuse him of more than he had the night before. Finding yourself naked in bed with another man was much more than stealing a kiss. Not that Maric was planning on either. 

Jacques had a slim waist, much smaller than his loose tunic made him appear. Maric could almost span the entire width of it with his hands. And, his chest, Maric paused, something there didn’t feel quite right, but he ignored the niggling thought and moved on to the boy’s arms. He held the boy’s hands in his own. His fingers were long and tapered, the tips calloused from plucking at the lute strings. Maric smirked to himself. They were not broken. The boy will live to play on. 

Lastly, Maric touched the boy’s head. He picked it up lightly and carefully checked the boy’s skull. There was a large lump on the back of his head, where Jacques hit the tree, and though tender to the touch, Maric didn’t think there would be any lasting damage besides one hell of a headache if the boy woke. 

Maric looked down, his hands cradling each side of the boy’s face. Jacques’s eyes were closed, and though unconscious from the blow, the boy looked as if he was simply sleeping. There was no tension on his face, no twinge of pain. His face felt smooth and soft in Maric’s hands and upon closer inspection he decided that it was almost feminine. He ran a thumb across Jacques’s eyebrow, it was a light blond unlike the bright red of his hair. The boy’s nose was petite and lightly freckled, and the lips, well…

Maric tore his eyes away, his heart beating loudly against his ears. Why did this feel so familiar?

***

After leaving Jacques to rest, he killed the last two basilisks, which wasn’t easy as they refused to descend from the top of the barn. Maric climbed up after them only for them to jump off and escape into the woods. He spent the better part of the afternoon tracking each one and killing it before bringing their carcasses back to the clearing where their father fell. He gathered the rest of the carcasses from the farm and brought them to the clearing as well. Maric piled firewood and kindling on their bodies and lit them aflame. He would take no chances.

After the fire died down and left nothing but black ash behind, Maric returned to the farmhouse and buried Samuel under a lone apple tree near the edge of the property. In his opinion, it was the loveliest part of the property as it oversaw a small stream and he hoped Samuel would find peace there.

When he determined it was safe, Maric let Clover and Daffodil out of the barn to graze in the fields. The horses stepped out of the barn cautiously, but when Maric led them out into the warm sun, they shook off their anxiety and began to graze. Though, Maric noticed that they stayed close to one another, with Clover looking up every few minutes to check the surroundings. Clover, the stallion, was a large black horse with a dark mane. Daffodil, the mare, was smaller, and light brown, with a white stripe that ran down the center of her face. The way Clover hovered close to Daffodil and the way Daffodil nudged affectionately against Clover’s neck, Maric could tell that they were a matched pair. He watched them idly for a moment before leaving them to their grazing. 

Maric was also able to retrieve his sword and Jacques’s knives, including the stiletto. He put the knives in the boy’s saddlebag, but kept the stiletto tucked into his own belt. He still had questions that needed to be answered. 

Every few minutes, Maric returned to the farmhouse to check on Jacques’s condition. He still appeared like he was asleep. Maric worried about the poison that might be coursing through Jacques’s body, but there was nothing to be done but wait. 

The house only consisted of one large room. A narrow bed, where Maric laid Jacques on, was in the top right corner of the room. Nearby was a fireplace, in which Maric set a small fire. Across the room was the kitchen, which consisted of a larger fireplace, where Maric had a small cauldron of soup boiling. He had hunted down a hare, one fat in preparation for its winter slumber, and dug out some potatoes and carrots from Samuel’s garden. Next to the kitchen was a small table with two seats, one, Maric presumed for Samuel, and one for a guest, if he ever had any. Maric sat in one chair himself and watched Jacques carefully from across the room. 

Maric couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something odd about the boy. The stiletto knife surprised him. Jacques claimed to be a traveling bard, but was there more to his story? Was the boy hiding something? Maric pulled out the knife and held it out. It barely had any weight to it. Maric flicked it back and forth and it shined brightly in the firelight. It was easy to handle, quick, and silent as it cut through the air. Maric’s eyes fell on Jacques’s sleeping form. 

Should he kill the boy now instead of waking up to find the point of this knife driven into his throat?

***

Rose woke with a groan as she reached up to clutch the back of her head. She groaned louder when she shifted and felt a thousand needles shoot up her arm. She bit down a scream. It felt as if every bone in her body was broken and winced as she slowly opened her eyes.

“You’re alive,” someone said. Rose blinked a few more times and thanked the gods that it was dark. Her head felt as if it was three times its true size.

“I wish I wasn’t,” she said, her voice cracking. The room filled with laughter. “What’s so funny?”

“You don’t know how close you were to death.”

Rose blinked a few more times and the room came into focus. They were in a house. From the bed in the corner of the room, she could see that a fire had died in the hearth not too long ago, the wood still burned brightly with embers. There was a faint smell of blood and decay in the air that caused her stomach to churn, but she gulped a few times and swallowed the rising nausea. “Maric?”

“Yes? That’s good that you remember me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You have a pretty nasty bump on your head when the basilisk slammed you against a tree.” Rose reached up again and touched the area gently. She instantly grimaced in pain. “You should be glad to be alive and with no broken bones.”

Rose suddenly sat up, her head swimming, and ran her hands down her chest. It was still flattened by the bandages. When she looked up, she saw Maric sitting on a chair across the room watching her curiously. 

“My leg…”

“You can thank the basilisk for that. I thought you were poisoned. But, as you are awake now, you are not. You’re lucky, I’ll grant you that.”

Rose touched the bandage on her naked thigh. It was tight and clean and expertly done. Her trouser leg was missing. “You did this?” Maric nodded, half his face hidden in shadow. “What time is it? Or, I’m afraid to ask, what day is it?”

Maric smiled. “Same day, or night, I should say. I expect it’s after midnight. You’ve been asleep for about sixteen hours.”

“I feel like I slept none of it,” Rose said, falling back onto the bed. She winced when her head hit the pillow. With her eyes tightly closed, she said, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For saving my life.”

There was a silence from across the room. Rose opened her eyes slightly to watch Maric under her lashes. He was staring right back at her. “You should go home.”

“What?” Rose’s eyes snapped open. 

“You were almost killed. This was what I warned you of. What if you were poisoned by the basilisk? What if you did break every bone in your body?”

“None of that happened,” she said, not in the mood to argue with him. Her head was still aching terribly. “Don’t think you can get rid of me that easily.”

“I could have left you there, you know, crumpled under that tree. You would have died then too. It was a cold night, and though there may not be any monsters in the woods any longer, there are other creatures that kill.”

“But, the thing is, you’re not a monster Maric. You would never have left me.” And Rose believed it too. Even as Maric frowned at her, she knew that he was a good person. 

“I could have.”

“But, you didn’t.”

Maric snorted. “Go back to sleep.”

***

Cold metal bit into his wrists as he was pulled higher up the wall. He felt his shoulders stretch out until something seemed to pop and come loose. He clenched his teeth tightly holding back a scream. There was no point in wasting it now, there would be more pain coming.

“Where is she?” a deep, sultry voice called out behind him. He felt a hand caress his back, long nails digging into his skin. There was a hint of sensuality to the movement. If his shoulders weren’t screaming out in pain, Maric would have wondered if he was trapped in a brothel about to succumb to some form of exquisite seduction. “I can stop at any time. Just tell me where she is.”

Maric said nothing. 

“Fine, have it your way.” He heard steps receding down a stone hallway. 

“Now, it’s my turn,” a voice said coming out of the shadows. He heard something unravel and hit the ground with a sickening snap. 

***

When Rose woke again, it was late in the morning. The warm sunlight filtered through the window and Rose laid there bewildered at the thought that she could have died. Everything felt so normal, so quiet. It was hard to believe that the farm was overrun with basilisks not one day ago. 

Rose sat up to find the house empty. No, he didn’t, she thought, alarm coursing through her as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up slowly. The blood rushed to her head, causing it to pound, though not as bad as it did during the night.

Her leg still ached and her body was sore, but Rose carefully made it to the front door and opened it. Did he leave her? Was she wrong about him? Rose leaned heavily against the doorframe to catch her breath. 

The sun blinded her for a moment. When a cloud passed over it, she saw Maric leaning forward against the fence watching Clover and Daffodil grazing together in the field. When he turned to her, Rose smiled. She walked down to him, her legs feeling steadier with each step.

“How are you feeling?”

She tilted her head, looking at him closely. His eyes were shadowed, and though there was no hint of any pain on his face. But, she felt a shift in him, a change. “Much better. Thank you again.” Maric just nodded.

“They look happy.” Daffodil was brushing up against Clover. Clover whinnied and nudged her back.

“It was a long day and night for them both. For you as well.” Rose swallowed, thinking of the night before. Maric must have carried her back from the forest and he certainly dressed her wound. The bandages on her chest were still in place when she woke again in the morning so she was fairly certain that he did not know her secret. The fact that he was still speaking to her now confirmed it. Rose smiled wryly to herself. He would be raging at her.

She could feel Maric’s eyes on her and the air charge around them and cleared her throat. “What is our plan now?”

“Our plan?”

“Don’t start with me. I’m not going anywhere except with you. That fight with a basilisk is not 

enough for my song. One fight does not count as an epic.”

Maric held up his hand. “And, that you nearly died, that doesn’t count for anything?”

“As I said last night, I didn’t die. I’m not going to, not yet.” Rose frowned. If she had to fight Maric every inch of the way, she would. She didn’t know what it was, there was a sensation that she could not shake and every ounce in her being told her that being with him was simply right. They made a good team. Or, at least, she thought they did. He probably thought she was a liability. 

“Then, we need to establish some ground rules.” Rose opened her mouth in protest, but Maric held up his hand again, his eyes rolling in exasperation. Rose snapped her mouth shut. “You will listen to me and follow my commands, especially during a fight. You were nearly killed and I don’t need your blood on my hands.”

“You would be dead if I didn’t intervene. The basilisk was about to kill you yesterday if I didn’t attack it.”

“First, you didn’t attack it, you ran at it screaming like a damned idiot and fell right on your face.”

“I distracted it.”

Maric gritted his teeth, his eyes flashing with anger. Rose didn’t notice until then that they were a soft brown, like the color of chocolate. Chocolates were her favorite, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. 

“I am prepared to die. Are you?”

“I don’t plan on dying. Anyways, I feel great. I can handle any fight.” Rose didn’t feel great, but she felt better than she should have, thanks, she begrudgingly knew, to Maric’s care.

“Then, get your horse ready. We’re leaving.” Rose looked at him in shock as he headed into the field and began saddling up Clover.


	6. Chapter Five

Maric was in a poor mood when he woke in the morning. He was relieved that Jacques had survived the night, more relieved that he had thought he would be. Though he would never admit it to anyone, when the boy woke in the middle of the night, Maric nearly wept with relief. Knowing that Jacques would be fine, he was able to sleep for the rest of the night. However, sleep did not come as readily as he had hoped. 

The nightmares were back. There was no denying them now. It’s been years since he’s been plagued with them. They were the only things he remembered about his past, if they were even about his past. That was the whole mystery, he couldn’t remember anything from before five years ago. All that he could were the nightmares that plagued him for months in the beginning until suddenly disappearing altogether. 

But, three nights ago, the night he spent with Fabienne, they came rushing back. Maric hadn’t a night’s peace since then. 

Maric thought about waking the boy, but Jacques needed another day’s rest at least. It was fine by him. He never got to settle down long in one place and Samuel’s farm had a beauty to it that reminded him of the Boucher’s farm. The sun was inching its way up across the sky casting the surrounding fields in bright gold. It was idyllic now that it was no longer overrun with basilisks. 

Maric took in a deep breath. He could settle somewhere like this place, work the land, marry a country lass, and fatten her up with children. He smiled wryly to himself. Maybe in another life.

He heard the front door of the house creak open but didn’t turn. Jacques was awake and up on his feet, which was another good sign of his recovery. Another day or two of rest and the boy would be ready to continue on his journey home. Maric frowned at the thought. He was beginning to enjoy having company on the road. It was nice to talk to someone besides his horse (if he was lucky to have one) and, an added bonus with Jacques, to listen to the soft strumming of the lute at night before bed. 

It will be lonely without Jacques. But, after what happened the day before, Maric knew Jacques would be a danger to both of them. In more ways than one.

***

Maric watched as Jacques slumped low in his saddle. They had been riding for the rest of the morning and most of the early afternoon and it was hours still until sunset. 

“Let’s make camp,” Maric said, annoyed with himself and Jacques. The boy needed more rest, but at hearing Maric’s command, Jacques sat up straighter in his saddle, his shoulders squared. 

“It’s still early,” Jacques replied, his voice resolute. Maric frowned. The boy was stubborn and Maric feared that he would keep riding until he fell out of the saddle unconscious. He was a fool. Maric was too, but he didn’t readily admit it to himself. He allowed himself to be baited by the boy, to lash out in anger. And, now he was putting both of their lives in danger. If they were attacked by man or beast or something else entirely… Maric didn’t finish the thought. It was best to get them off the road.

“We’re stopping,” Maric said as he rode up alongside Jacques and took his reins. Jacques didn’t fight him, his hands barely gripping the reins. Maric inhaled sharply when he saw the paleness of the boy’s face and the perspiration on his forehead. The shadows under his eyes made him look owlish. Without another word, Maric led Daffodil off the road and into the woods. 

***

Rose fell asleep the moment they finished setting up camp in a small clearing next to a slow moving stream. When she woke again, it was late in the evening, and Maric was roasting trout over an open fire. The smell was intoxicating and she slowly made her way to Maric. 

He didn’t say anything when he cut her off a thick slice of toasted bread and cheese and placed the tender white flesh of fish on top of it. She nodded in thanks and ate. It was soon gone and replaced with the same. She ate three before she felt full and relatively recovered.

“I am sorry to have caused you so much trouble,” she began. She knew that she needed to mend the fences between them, otherwise Maric would never let her stay with him. Rose still did not understand why she felt this compulsion to remain in his company. She thought it was because of the ballad she desperately wished to write, or the future she was avoiding, but then she would catch herself staring at him as if entranced. 

Maric looked up from his own meal but said nothing. She continued, “But, I am not going home. There is no home to go to you see.”

“No mother or father?”

“No, they died a few years ago.” That part of the lie was easy to tell, after many years of practice doing so to every person she met. It was Athena who helped her craft her false past as the son of farmers whose parents died tragically in a fire. Fires happened often enough that no one would question her story. “Afterwards, I traveled with a troupe of performers, musicians, singers, dancers, the whole lot.”

“Gypsies.”

“Yes and, for the past couple of years, they became my family.”

“Where are they now?”

Rose shrugged. Athena said they were heading south for the winter, perhaps setting up camp outside one of the larger towns that could accommodate them. But, nothing was ever written in stone as long as you lived on the road. They could be anywhere and Rose did not expect to meet them again. Even though they parted amicably, Athena thought it was a huge mistake on Rose’s part to go it alone. But, Rose did not tell Athena what she had planned.

“Why did you leave them?”

“I needed to do something new, something different. And, that is why being with you is so important to me.”

Maric stilled, one hand holding a wineskin halfway up to his mouth. “It is not what you think,” Rose added quickly, her face flushed. “I can’t seem to describe it.”

Maric drank from the wineskin and handed it to Rose. She drank and was surprised to find it full of wine, dark and rich. She took a few more gulps before handing it back. Her body warmed as she felt the wine rush through her.

“I think I understand.” He hesitated, as if debating about how much he wanted to say, before continuing. “I left the only home I knew myself four years ago.”

“Your family?” Rose was instantly curious. Even though they have been together for the past few days, neither of them have spoken about their pasts. She had imagined Maric born as he was now straight from the ground. She could hardly imagine this dour man as a child.

“Not by blood, but more family to me than anything I can remember.”

Rose frowned. That was an odd way to phrase it. 

“The Bouchers took care of me after an accident, or I believe it was an accident. I stayed with them for several months.”

“What happened?”

Maric paused again, this time for longer. Rose was unsure he would speak again until he did. “I don’t remember. I lost my memory. Pierre Boucher found me on the riverbank, half drowned, while he was out fishing. Him and his wife, Margot, nurtured me back to health. I was bedridden for weeks. And, it took many more to recover my strength.”

“So, you don’t know who you really are?” Rose said, before snapping her mouth shut. What was she thinking? A pained look passed over Maric’s face. 

“No. For the past couple of years I hoped someone would recognize me. But, alas, no luck. I must have been a nobody.”

“Perhaps that is best. A new identity for a new beginning.” Rose wanted to confess it all to Maric right then and there. That he was not alone in being someone he was not. But, Rose kept her mouth shut. If he wanted to send her away as Jacques, he would certainly send her away as Rose. 

***

As the fire began to burn down and their stomachs full, Rose felt drowsy as she strummed gently against the lute. Maric seemed to appreciate the music as he said nothing, but sat silently and listened. He watched her intently, but Rose pretended not to notice. When she paused to take down some notes of the melody she played, Maric cleared his throat.

“Tomorrow, we will begin our journey south.” Rose sat up, dropping the quill. 

“We? So you will let me join you?”

“I don’t think I have any say in the matter,” he grumbled. “But, yes, I expect you to join me one way or the other, so you might as well know my plan. The constable in Pine Hollow told me a rumor of attacks on small farms and villages in the outskirts of the Valenris. More so, I believe it not to be rumors at all.”

“You heard more?”

Maric shook his head. “I can feel something dark growing there. Something powerful.” Maric stood and kicked dirt on the fire until it died. A chill swept through the woods, causing all the hairs on her arm to stand. It wasn’t wise to keep a fire lit in the woods during the night. Who knows who would come across them while they slept? A group of bandits would be just as bad as a curious bear. 

Rose swallowed. Though, she couldn’t imagine anything more dangerous and evil than the basilisks. 

“We should bathe before it gets too cold,” Maric said looking up at the sky. Their campsite for the night was in a clearing near a large stream, the same where Maric caught the trout. He began stripping off his leather armor and Rose quickly turned away.

Maric stood across from her naked and looked at her quizzically. “We may not have a chance again for a long while. There will be no hot baths on the road.”

“No, no, I will be fine,” Rose replied stammering. She turned herself away. She could hear Maric splashing around in the water and only turned back when he was standing waist deep. Rose bit her lip. The water had looked inviting. It had been days since her last bath, and she was still sticky with blood from the basilisk fight. Her hair was matted with grease. And, she knew she smelled sour with stale sweat.

Rose picked up her lute again and began to play as she watched Maric from the corner of her eyes. His shoulders were wide and well muscled. Her eyes trailed down his broad chest to his waist. She bit her lip imagining what laid just below the water. 

She looked up to find Maric looking at her with one eyebrow raised. Rose quickly turned away and plucked randomly at her lute, causing a cacophony of twangs to resonate through the woods. Maric splashed some more as he bathed and after a few moments Rose worked up the courage to look again.

She gasped out loud at the sight of his back, which was lined with deep scars that criss crossed its entirety. 

***

Maric heard Jacques gasp out loud and knew that he had seen the scars. Maric had spent endless hours wondering about their origin, but also thankful that he could not remember. They were red and purple and not an attractive sight. Once, a girl at a brothel even ran screaming out of the room when he undressed. Maybe this would finally deter the boy’s interest, Maric thought wryly. 

With his broken nose and the long scar on his face, Maric knew he was not a handsome man. Sometimes, he would stare at his reflection in the mirror and wonder if there ever was one underneath the scars and his broken nose. Fabienne found him attractive enough to invite him into her bed, as did many others whenever he had the urge to, but Maric wondered if this was his true face. He had been travelling the roads for years and no one seemed to recognize him. 

“What happened to you?” Jacques asked. Maric turned to see the boy staring at him wide-eyed. The boy, Maric thought, on the other hand was quite handsome, even beautiful. He would never have trouble getting girls to tumble with him in bed. But, from what Maric gathered, it wasn’t girls that interested Jacques. 

Suddenly, Maric felt self conscious under the boy’s steady gaze.

“I cannot remember and am glad of it.” But, that was not entirely true. He was glad that he could not remember the pain. Maric gritted his teeth. The nightmares… they had something to do with the scars, but whenever he thought of them, his head began to hurt. Maric stepped out of the stream and reached for his clothes. Even though he was still wet, he pulled on his trousers. 

He felt fingers lightly touching his back and he turned to find Jacques standing there, his fingers gingerly tracing the scars.

“They are deep. They must have been very painful,” Jacques said, his eyes turned up at Maric. They were filled with unshed tears and Maric gripped Jacques’s shoulder, pushing him away.

“They are not your concern,” he whispered harshly. “I am not your concern.”

***

By the evenness of Maric’s breathing and the slow rise of his chest, Rose knew that Maric was asleep. She laid there thinking about Maric’s scarred back. Something terrible happened to him and it pained Rose that he did not know what it was. Perhaps, he was a soldier captured by the enemy? A runaway slave? Whatever his past was, maybe it was best forgotten as he said. He may be happier without the memory. And, as he said, it was none of her concern. 

Rose sighed and quietly she sat up and tiptoed away from the camp. She was glad the moon was out, which made the trip down to the stream much easier. She paused for a moment when she thought she heard something moving to her left, but when she heard nothing more, she kept walking. 

Rose removed her vest and pulled the tunic over her head. As quietly as possible, she began to unravel the bandages around her chest. She breathed a sigh of relief once freed. Her breasts were numb and she massaged them gently. She felt the blood tingle them back to life. 

Rose looked over her shoulder again before removing her trousers and stepped into the stream. She shivered. It was late fall. Winter was just creeping around the corner. In another couple of weeks, the whole forest would be covered in snow. She glanced back over her shoulder. Maric must still be asleep as she heard nothing from where they set up camp for the night. 

Rose didn’t know what she would do when the winter came. In the past, the troupe would set up camp outside a village and wait until spring. This benefitted both the troupe and the village, as the Rose and the others would have warm beds and food for the winter while the villagers would have entertainment every night to stave off the darkness and boredom. 

But, she left Athena and the rest of her friends early in the summer. Athena planned on heading south to new playing grounds, and, after spending five lovely years with her new family, Rose needed to be alone. She needed to think about her own future and what those choices may be. 

And, prodding her from the back of her mind, she knew she had to go home. It was time.

But, then Maric came along. Rose sighed. She was a coward. She latched onto another adventure to avoid, what? The truth? 

I’ll go home when this adventure is over. 

Rose sank into the water, flinching at the coldness, but relishing the fact that she would no longer smell like a pigsty. She used a small bar of rose scented soap that she carried with her in her saddlebag. It was an indulgence, a dangerous one as most boys didn’t smell like flowers after they bathed, if they bathed at all. But, Rose was tired of being sticky and smelly. She was tired of pretending to be a boy. She was tired of Jacques.

She wanted to be Rose again if just for a moment. 

“What are you doing?”

Startled, Rose sank down into the stream, clutching her chest. Maric stepped up to the bank and Rose could see him clearly as he surely could see her. He stepped closer to her, his sword raised, and his eyes peering into the dense woods around them.

“I needed a bath.” 

“In the middle of the night?” He turned to her and began walking in her direction.

“No, stay where you are!” 

Maric froze and his eyes ran down the length of her body. She could see the astonishment on his face.

“I can explain-”

Suddenly, Maric dropped his sword and screamed. He doubled over, his hands clutching his head as if in great pain, before collapsing.


	7. Chapter Six

Maric sat in a dark cell. He did not know how long he had been imprisoned. Was it only days? Or months? Certainly, not years, he thought wryly to himself, his smile hidden by the shadows. But, even he could not trust his own hopes. 

He sat on a small rotted bench, his arms and legs shackled to the wall in metal chains. A goblin stood guard outside his cell, leering at him whenever he was awake. Maric tried his best to leer back, but he knew his efforts were futile. This only caused the goblin to cackle out loud, the sound like nails driving into Maric’s head.

In another few weeks, Maric thought, he would be thin enough to just slip through the bars. The chains that hung heavily from his wrists were much looser now than before. If he didn’t die first, he could have a chance of escape. 

The sharp clicking of shoes resounding off the stone floor made its way down to Maric’s cell. He felt his stomach begin to churn and a cold sweat break out on his forehead. 

She was back.

A sharp green face stepped out of the shadows. “Well, are you ready to talk?”Her hands stroked the bars of the cell. Maric felt a sick thrill shoot through his body. “Are you ready to tell me where the girl is?”

Maric said nothing. He had told this witch many times that he did not know this girl she so desired. He pitied whoever the girl was. As much as the witch looked on Maric with hatred, her eyes burned anew whenever she said the girl’s name.

Aurora.

***

Rose stood still for a moment unsure of what happened before rushing to Maric’s side. He convulsed wildly on the ground, his eyes clenched shut, and Rose threw her legs over his body and straddled him. She pushed down with her entire body until he began to still. Rose cradled his head between both of her hands.

“Maric! Maric!” Droplets from her wet hair hit his face, but his eyes were clenched shut. He slowly began to relax until his body was limp and Rose knew the moment of danger was over. Slowly, Maric opened his eyes and Rose saw that though they were clear, there was a spark of danger in them. His hands gripped her hips tightly, holding her down onto him, and it was then she realized something hard pressing against her. He was only wearing his trousers and she was wearing nothing at all. She blushed and sat up quickly, her arms covering her bare chest.

Maric took his time running his eyes up and down her naked body before breaking out into laughter. Rose looked at him as if he had gone crazy as she scrambled off him and began to dress. 

“What is wrong with you?” she asked over his laughter. Maric was doubled over on the ground, the laughter leaving him prone. 

“You are a… girl.” The laughter began to fade away and he sat up looking at her, the mirth still playful across his face. Rose inhaled sharply. When smiling, Maric looked years younger, almost youthful. He couldn’t be much older than her. He is handsome, she thought. Dangerously so. There was a glint of amusement in his eye. “It explains a lot. Namely, your looks, and the roundness of your behind and-” He stopped himself short and sat up. “The next town we reach-”

“No! You are not leaving me behind.”

“This changes everything.”

“How so? I am just as capable as when you thought I was a boy. I’m still the same person.”

“Yes, but now I don’t know if I can trust myself around you.” Maric stood and slowly walked over to Rose, his eyes were hooded. “Before, when you were Jacques, well, you were safe from me. Now…” His hand brushed back her wet hair and cupped her cheek. He dipped his head down and kissed her. His tongue probed against her lips until she yielded. Rose felt a shock of electricity shoot from her head down to her toes, which curled against the soft ground. She pressed forward, kissing him back, until he pulled away. Suddenly, the forest felt cold. 

“Yes,” Maric whispered. “Next town, you’re gone.”

***

Maric had meant for the kiss to scare her, whoever she really was. He expected her to slap him in the face for his boldness, but when she pressed up against him, her arms thrown around his neck, and pushed deeper in for the kiss, Maric couldn’t help but feel the peaks of her nipples pressing against his bare chest. If he wasn’t hard before, he was rock solid after he pulled away. 

The kiss was a mistake. She didn’t look frightened at all. If anything, her face was flushed as it looked up towards him, her lips swollen. If he hadn’t stopped, she wouldn’t have stopped him from pushing his advances. They could be naked on the ground now, him deep inside her. Maric swallowed a groan and put more distance between them.

“That was… pleasant,” she said. Maric laughed inwardly. Pleasant? His body was on fire. He beat a quick retreat back to his bedroll before turning to face her. She was still standing there frozen in place watching him with an odd expression on her face. 

“What’s your name? Your real one.”

The girl hesitated for a moment before answering. “Rose.” Maric raised an eyebrow. She frowned. “Yes, Rose is my real name. I’m not lying to you now.” 

“Then what else have you lied to me about?” 

Rose frowned, but kept her mouth shut. Maric could see the anger rising inside her. This was much better. He didn’t want her to get the wrong impression of what just happened between them. Maric busied himself with starting a fire. The girl was still damp and she would catch a chill. Maric didn’t need the heat, his body was still on fire itself. 

“Why are you disguised as a boy?” The fire lit and Rose sat down next to it. Maric sat across from her watching her through the flames. The flickering light bounced off of her red hair causing it to shine like gold. She watched him with her violet eyes and he felt a strange sense of familiarity. 

“It was easier traveling the roads as Jacques than as a lone female.” Maric nodded. There was sense in that. It was dangerous traveling the roads alone, but as a male there were some advantages. Though, a male as beautiful as Rose would have been worse than if she was ugly. Even Maric noticed in Pine Hollow how people just turned to Jacques, their eyes drawn to him, against their will. He felt it himself. 

“What happened to you just now?”

“What do you mean?”

“You collapsed suddenly and started convulsing.” Rose pointed to the ground where he fell. 

Maric pressed his lips flat and frowned. “I suffer from nightmares.”

“What of?”

Maric gave her a flat stare. How much should he tell her? The nightmares themselves made him sound like a raving lunatic. He never remembered much when he woke, just scraps of pain and terror. 

“I am imprisoned,” he started, poking at the fire. “I don’t know where, but the cell is old but sturdy. I am chained to the wall.” Rose gasped. “There is pain, blinding pain. And, then nothing. I cannot recall the rest.”

“Do you think the nightmares have to do with the scars on your back? That they are memories?”

Maric nodded, unsurprised that she leapt to the same conclusion as he had in the past. “Most likely, but I cannot remember much. The nightmares began again a couple of days ago. I haven’t experienced them in years before then. Not since, well… when I was found.”

“So these nightmares are the key to your past, to discovering who you really are,” Rose said excitedly. “There must be clues within them.”

“Perhaps, but I try not to dwell on them.” The more he thought of the nightmares, the more his head ached. Even now, as they talked, Maric could feel something needling into the back of his head- a short, sharp pain. He knew what Rose said was right, that the nightmares were a key to his past. 

“I wonder why they started three days ago,” Rose said thoughtfully. 

“We should sleep whatever is left of the night. We have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow. We will be entering Valenris.” 

***

Rose and Maric rode for several hours until they reached the country’s border in the middle of the afternoon. The weather was nice, nicer still as they traveled farther south. The days would get a little warmer from here on out, Rose thought. She thought back to the cottage that she shared with Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather. It wasn’t too far from where they were, maybe two days’ journey at most. As they approached the toll gate, Rose hesitated. This was Prince Philip’s kingdom, now King Philip, Rose corrected. Though, it was foolish to think that she would run into him on the road, Rose felt on edge. 

“What is wrong with you today?” Maric asked, turning in his saddle. He leaned closer to Rose. “Are you not yet recovered from the attack?”

“I’m fine,” Rose replied. She felt sick to her stomach. 

“You’re pale.”

“I’m fine,” Rose repeated as she dismounted. Maric followed. A soldier approached them both.

“Where are you heading?” the soldier asked. He was an older man, perhaps in his late fifties. His hair was all white and tufts of it stuck out from under his helmet. His armor was freshly polished so that Rose could see her reflection in it. Maric was right, she did look pale. 

“To Beaumont,” Maric answered. It wasn’t until that moment that Rose learned where they were headed. Beaumont was the seat of the kingdom, where Philip resided. Rose swallowed hard.

“For the royal baptism? You must have heard the news. The king and queen had a baby boy named Tristan, Prince Tristan, not one month ago. He is to be baptized at the end of the week. If you hurry, you will arrive in time for the ceremony.”

Neither Maric or Rose replied. The soldier cleared his throat. “I will need to search your belongings.” He called two other soldiers over, one a young man, and the other a middle-aged woman. It appeared that the group were a family. The woman, who was stocky, with a light blond hair tied back in a plait, began searching through Rose’s saddlebags. She pulled out Rose’s daggers and laid them on the ground. The young man searched Maric’s. 

“There’s nothing here,” the woman called out. She approached Rose. “I’ll need to search you as well.” Rose nodded and the woman ran her hands up and down Rose’s body. She opened Rose’s tunic and stilled when she saw Rose’s bandaged down breasts. She looked up inquiringly, but stayed silent. “Nothing here either.”

The old man grunted in consent as he began searching Maric. He set down a dagger besides Maric’s sword. Suddenly, Rose thought of her stiletto, the one given to her by Athena. Where was it? The last she remembered was that she tried to kill the basilisk with the weapon. Maybe it was lost in the woods. Rose swallowed, if it was discovered on either of them, they would be instantly imprisoned. The weapon was illegal as only assassins carried them. And, no guard in their right mind would let an assassin across their borders. 

“You’re clear,” the soldier said to Maric. Maric leaned over and picked up his sword and dagger and placed them back in their scabbards. Rose did the same with her daggers. “You’re both free to go.”

Rose remounted Daffodil and followed Maric and Clover past the gates. She sighed in relief. Maybe the stiletto was gone after all. She felt a pang of sadness. It was a parting gift from Athena and it was the only thing she had of hers besides the memories of their time together. 

Once they rounded the corner and the guard’s gate was no longer in sight, Maric leaned over and pulled a dagger out of his boot. 

“I believe this is yours.” 

Rose took the stiletto from him. “If you were caught with this…”

“I would have been thrown into the closest cell- something, you understand, I would like to avoid for the rest of my life.” Rose thought back to his nightmares.

“Why didn’t you give it back to me before?”

“I knew we would be passing through that guard’s gate. If you were caught with it-”

“But, it is mine, and if I get caught, well, more fool on me. You don’t need to take my punishments for me, Maric.”

“Suit yourself. But, I have to ask, where did you get that dagger? You, obviously, know that such an item is forbidden in most kingdoms.”

“Are you asking if I am an assassin?”

Maric paused for a moment, watching her closely as if trying to catch her in a lie, before continuing. “Yes. Travelling as a bard certainly provides you with a decent cover. No one questions musicians when they come through towns. And, they have access to places that no normal person does, such as the royal courts.” 

He was astute, Rose thought. This was precisely why Athena disguised herself as the leader of a traveling troupe. Everyone invited a musician or actor into their homes, even the wealthy, elite, and the dangerous. Everyone can appreciate a good song or play. 

Rose decided to err on the side of truth. “It was given to me by a friend. I am not an assassin.” 

“But, your friend is,” Maric finished. He looked at her queerly. “You have strange friends.”

“Well, you’re a monster hunter, don’t you think that is strange too?”

“But, I am not your friend.” 

***

The town of Perivin was too large to be considered a village but too small to be considered a town. It boasted of several markets, two bakeries, three inns, two taverns, and a brothel. After stabling the horses, where Rose paid the stableboy an extra copper coin for the best oats for Clover and Daffodil, Maric began walking off towards the closest inn. 

“I bid you farewell,” Maric said with a wave of a hand.

“Wait,” Rose called out. “You really mean to leave me then?”

“Yes, what I am after is dangerous. Far too dangerous for an amateur, which is what I should have known even when you were disguised as Jacques. Go home, Rose. Go marry the boy you are running from.”

Rose stood and watched Maric walk away. She ground her teeth in frustration. Of course, he would assume she was running away from marriage. It was the most likely story a female runaway would have besides already being married and escaping an abusive husband. The fact that Maric was right irked her even more. Alas, Philip was already married, so she was safe from that. 

Rose felt a stab of regret through her heart.

It was hard not to look closely at the land around them as she and Maric rode through the forests and fields past the scattered farm houses and mills. Everything was quiet, peaceful, and Rose thought, perfect. And, it all could have been hers.

Instead, Rose focused on how Maric would break their agreement the second that they came across a town and what she would do afterwards. And, she was right, she thought, as she watched his retreating back. He opened the door to the Lily Rose Inn, a decent looking establishment, and entered. The temptation of sleeping indoors may keep him around for the rest of the night, but it was no promise. She needed to enact her plan immediately.

Rose walked quickly to the center of town which was lined with different shops. As the sun was 

setting and many were heading back home for supper, Rose ducked into the closest dress shop.

“We’re closed,” a gruff old man said behind the counter. He was busily wrapping the day’s wares. A shopgirl, most likely his daughter, bustled behind him, cleaning up her workstation.

“I need clothes…” The man looked up and eyed Rose in disbelief. “For my sister.” 

“Come back in the morning.”

“I need them now, we are leaving immediately for Beaumont for the celebration.” Rose dropped several gold coins on the counter. “The price is no object.” 

The man paused, taking in the number of coins on the counter. It was enough to cover the profits for a whole year. “Have her come so we can take her measurements. We will do what we can tonight.” 

“No need,” Rose replied, looking at the ready made dresses hanging up against the wall. “I will take those two,” she said pointing to two serviceable dresses, one in dark green and the other in blue. 

The dresses looked to be about the right size, though perhaps a little large around the waist. They could be easily altered. Rose spent years with Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather stitching and mending her own clothes, and those of her aunts. It didn’t strike her as strange that her aunts were completely clueless with most household chores until after they revealed themselves to her as fairies. Once she learned the truth, everything fell into place, like how the bacon was always burnt, the cottage always dusty, and how her dresses, until she took over, were always two sizes too big or too small with sleeves that either dragged on the ground and so large that she could have stuck her head through them. And, the fabrics, a mish mash of satins with calico with wool and cotton of all different colors stitched together into one dress. It wasn’t until Rose snuck out of the cottage as a child to the nearest village and saw how they dressed that she knew she looked ridiculous. As soon as her fingers were nimble enough, she took over her own sewing. 

Rose took her parcels and tucked them under her arm. She turned down a dark alley and hid behind several empty wooden crates and barrels waiting to be picked up by a merchant in the morning. Quickly, she took off her tunic and trousers and changed into one of the dresses. She took a deep breath of relief as she undid the bandages on her breast and dumped them with her old clothes into the bag the shopkeep had given her. She said a quiet farewell to Jacques. She lived in his skin for five years and five years was enough. It was time to be Rose again. 

It felt strange wearing a dress. Though she spent sixteen years of her life wearing one, the past five years of Jacques provided a freedom she never knew. Growing up under the watchful eyes of Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather, and then under the scrutiny of an entire kingdom as Princess Aurora, Jacques provided her anonymity. As Rose, she hoped for the same. 

After she finished, she approached the Lily Rose Inn and pushed open the door. The innkeeper, a short man with a pair of glasses balancing on his sharp nose looked up from his book. 

“Can you direct me to Maric Landry’s room?” she asked. 

The man looked her up and down. “And who might you be?”

“I am his wife.” Rose looked the man squarely in the eye as if daring him to question her. The man stared back, undaunted. 

“The man did not mention he had a wife.”

“He did not expect me to arrive today. I just arrived on the coach.” Rose had seen a coach full of people pull in front of one of the taverns on her way over to the inn. She hoped it was one that typically arrived on schedule, and it seemed to be when the man nodded.

“Thomas here will take you to the room,” the man said. A small blond boy jumped up from the stool he was sitting on. He took Rose’s packages from her and led her up the stairs. Rose followed the boy into a room at the end of the staircase and when he opened the door Rose knew immediately that it would not work. It was no bigger than a closet. If she stretched out her arms, she could just touch the walls on opposite sides. She saw a single cot with no mattress and Maric’s things at the foot of the cot. 

“No, no, this won’t do at all,” she said, turning to Thomas. The boy stood warily just outside the door. “Tell the innkeeper I want the best room in the inn.” The boy looked at her skeptically until Rose sighed and reached into her purse and pressed a gold coin in the boy’s palm. The boy quickly turned and ran down the stairs only to return with the innkeeper himself.

The man was all wide-eyed with an oily smile plastered on his face as he bowed repeatedly and directed Rose to the staircase once again. They walked up another flight to a door that led to the only chamber on the third and top floor. When the innkeeper threw open the door, Rose was immediately satisfied by what she saw. In the center of the room was a large four-post bed. Though, the sheets were not as fine as silk or satin, they were white and clean, and the pillows were thick and soft. To the far side of the room was a large wardrobe and a set of drawers made of thick dark oak. Next to it, to Rose’s delight, was an empty tub half hidden behind a fold out screen. 

On the other side of the bed was a small dining table surrounded by four chairs made of the same oak as the wardrobe and cabinet. On closer inspection, she could see fine roses carved into the backs of chairs and along the outer ring of the table.

“This will do nicely,” Rose said as she handed the innkeeper enough coins for the room. “When Mr. Landry returns, I would like you to bring up whatever is best on the menu tonight in the tavern.”

“The best we have in house is a meat pie,” the innkeeper said. Rose frowned, meat pies were nice when you were on the road, but tonight she wanted to luxuriate. “But,” he continued, “there is a restaurant next door that does a lovely roasted pheasant in mushroom with a butter sauce.”

“Yes, please send for it, including a nice bottle of red wine, cheese, and bread, and well, anything you can think of. Mr. Landry will be quite famished when he returns. We married this morning, and he was called off in a hurry.” Rose hadn’t realized how easy it was to lie after doing it for so long. “And, send a maid up to fill the tub. I will be taking a bath in the meanwhile and it will need to be refilled when Mr. Landry returns.”

The innkeeper and Thomas hurried from the room and Rose collapsed onto the bed. She sank deep into the mattress, sighing in pleasure, and was nearly asleep when there came a soft knocking on the door. She opened to find a young girl, about the same age and look as Thomas, with a bucket of hot water. She curtsied awkwardly to Rose before rushing to the tub and filling it. Thomas stood behind her with another bucket and between the two children, the tub was filled in minutes. Rose thanked them both and pressed coins in their awaiting palms. Their faces broke out into gap-toothed grins.

When the door closed, Rose began to disrobe. She sighed in relief and pleasure and she sank into the hot water. No more bathing in streams, not tonight at least. Hot baths were one the only things she missed about living in the castle. There she was able to bathe any time her heart desired, unlike in the cottage where she was the one boiling the water for the tub and sharing the water with Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather. As Rose was the youngest, she bathed last, and by then, no matter how close the tub was to the stove, the water was cold. 

Rose brought the thick piece of soap to her nose and to her delight it smelled sweet of her namesake. She lathered it up between her hands and began to wash every part of her body while her thoughts drifted to Maric. She smiled wickedly. She could already see the look of shock on his face when the innkeeper told him that his wife had arrived early and that she moved his belongings out of that closet of a room. But, that wasn’t all that she had planned for him. Rose blushed as she thought of how she was going to convince Maric to let her stay. She saw how he looked at her, especially now that he knew she was a girl. She touched her lips. And, she remembered how he kissed her that night in the woods. Her body felt hot, hotter than the water in the bath. 

She hoped she knew what she was doing. 

***

Maric spent the next hour nursing a mug of beer at The Wrong Turn tavern. He stopped because the sign made him laugh out loud, but stayed because of the three taverns in town, it served the cheapest beer. He spent the last of his coin on the mug before him and he wasn’t looking forward to spending the night in the broom closet the Lily Rose innkeeper set up for him. It was all he could afford. 

Damn Rose, he thought as he took a small sip. He was about five more sips away from finishing and it didn’t help that his stomach was grumbling loudly. He should leave that night, immediately. At least that would give him a chance to hunt or fish before bed, but the thought of sleeping under a warm roof, sparse as it was, had its appeal. Also, he already paid and he was sure the innkeeper wouldn’t give him a refund. The man gave Maric the most detestable look when he walked through the door earlier that afternoon. Maric couldn’t blame the man, he did look a mess even when cleaned up. The scars and the broken nose plus the sword swung over his back made him look more like a criminal than any normal patron of that establishment. He had passed a merchant and his wife as he walked in and they both fell silent at the sight of him. He could have also sworn he heard a baby begin to cry.

“Will that be all?” asked the barkeep, a dark man with large imposing arms. He eyed Maric warily. No one liked it when someone dallied over one beer with no intention of purchasing more. Well, intent wasn’t the problem. No one wanted someone who couldn’t pay either.

Maric shook his head and stood. It was already past supper time. 

As he pushed his way out of the tavern and walked back towards the inn, Maric looked over his shoulder cautiously in case Rose was waiting to ambush him. To his surprised disappointment, he didn’t catch one glimpse of her bright red hair. Maybe she listened to him after all, maybe she was gone.

He felt guilty about leaving Rose. He made a deal with her, one that, as his stomach grumbled again, was as beneficial to him as to her. Even if she was a girl, Maric knew that Rose had proven herself with the fight with the basilisks. She performed better than most men that he met in the past couple of years. She didn’t swoon away with fright. She stood her ground. And, she saved his life.

And, that should have counted for something, right? Maybe he was too hasty and maybe promises should be kept, he thought. If he could find her before he left tomorrow morning, he will allow her to accompany him. The trick, of course, was to make it seem like he wasn’t at fault. That he hadn’t changed his mind. Or, he would never hear the end of it from her. 

Maric frowned as he walked into the front door of the inn. The innkeeper looked up from his

books to Maric’s surprise, smiled broadly at him with his hands outstretched.

“Good evening, Mr. Landry. I was waiting for you. Delayed my own supper to wait for your return.” Before Maric could ask why, the innkeeper rushed ahead of him to the staircase. “Your wife is waiting upstairs for you.”

Maric was about to ask which damn wife he was talking about when he tensed. The innkeeper led him to the upper floor and knocked gently. The door opened and Maric saw her standing there, her face flushed and her hair damp, the steam rising from her body, which was wrapped in a towel.

And, the room smelled of roses.

*** 

Maric stepped into the room and shut the door on the innkeeper without taking his eyes off of Rose. He could hear the innkeeper blustering on the other side of the door.

“What are you doing?”

“I was taking a bath. I had them bring up another tub for you.” Maric followed Rose’s finger and there was indeed another wooden tub filled with hot, steaming water, hidden behind the screen. She wrinkled her nose. “You could use one.”

“What are you doing here?” Maric clarified, turning his eyes back onto Rose. She had the decency to look uncertain.

“We had an agreement, but, let’s not talk about it now. Let’s just enjoy a night warm and indoors.”

Maric felt the anger rise inside him, but he realized that it would take too much effort to fight her now. And, the bath did look very tempting. He began stripping off his clothes, his eyes holding hers, and saw her face flush a deep red. He walked across the room and sank down into the tub, a grunt of pleasure escaping his lips. She smiled at him from across the room.

“Dinner will be here shortly.” She disappeared behind the other screen herself and emerged a minute later wearing a light robe tied at the middle. Her waist was tiny, he could probably circle it entirely with the span of hands. And, her breasts, he could tell, would fit nicely cupped in each of his palms. He wondered how he ever believed Rose was a boy. The more he looked at her now, the way the robe clung around her shapely bum and thighs, he felt a burning in him.

She must have gone shopping, Maric thought, as he sank lower. There was a bar of soap on the ledge of the tub and he used it vigorously as Rose watched. 

“Here, lean forward,” Rose said, as she took the soap from him. She lathered up a damp towel and began washing his back in wide circles. He sighed contentedly. He could get used to this. Maybe, he should keep her around. She did have deft fingers. 

Her hands moved to the front of his chest and continued washing in wide circles. He leaned back into her and knew he was getting her wet again, but didn’t care. Slowly, her hands moved lower and lower until Maric snatched her hand. 

“What are you up to?” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. 

Before she could answer, there was a tentative knock on the door. Rose stood, draping the towel along the rim of the tub, and opened the door. A young woman stood at the threshold with a tray of food in her arms. She glanced over at Maric and flushed deeply before Rose directed her to the table in the corner. The woman was followed by a young girl and boy, who carried in a basket of bread and a bottle of wine. 

The room filled with the rich scent of cooked meat and spices that smelled familiar but Maric couldn’t remember what they were.

“My lady,” the woman curtsied. “We have a roasted pheasant on butter sauce with mashed potatoes and fresh picked peas. My husband has added on two meat pies made of lamb and carrots and potatoes from our own garden. And, we brought two slices of pie baked from the blueberries we picked this morning.”

Rose thanked the woman before pressing something into her hands and into the hands of the children. They quickly left, with the woman casting one longing glance at Maric before the door closed. 

*** 

Maric sank a little lower in the tub. He could feel his anger towards Rose dissipating with the steam. When the water began to cool, he regrettably, stood and dried himself with the towel left for him. 

“Where are my clothes?”

Rose scrunched her nose. “I gave it to the maid to be washed. It’s covered in grime and blood.”

The anger instantly returned. “You have no right.”

“Maric, I have every right. They were filthy. They could stand on their own with how much dried sweat and blood that encased them. Do not worry, she will have them returned, fresh, clean, and mended by the morning.”

“And what am I supposed to wear until then?” The clothes Maric wore on his back were also his only set of clothes. 

Rose’s eyes flickered down to the towel wrapped around Maric’s waist. “You are wearing as much as you will need tonight.”

***

Rose flushed at the boldness of her words. She was really out of her element now. 

“Whatever game you are playing, know that you cannot win.”

“No game. I just want to spend a nice night with you.”

“Nice? There will be no niceties, Rose. No, we are beyond that. If you want to play with fire, then so be it.”

Rose let out of a small squeal as Maric dropped his towel and scooped her up from her seat and dumped her on the bed. He followed, his body coming on top of hers and his mouth on hers. Rose succumbed to his kiss, this tongue pressing against her closed lips until she yielded and she kissed him back. The room was suddenly too hot and she felt relief when Maric sat up and began to remove her robe. When he saw what she wore underneath, a thin white silk nightgown with fine lace sewn along the ends, he inhaled sharply. The fabric was so fine that it was nearly translucent.

“You witch,” he said in a harsh whisper, his right hand reaching down between them and cupped her breast. His thumb brushed lightly across the tip of her nipple and she arched up against him and groaned. The tingling sensation between her legs deepened. 

Maric lowered his head.

“What are you doing?” Rose asked, suddenly alarmed when she felt his hand disappear and his lips take its place. He gently suckled at her nipple through her nightgown, licking it with the tip of his tongue before taking it all in his mouth. His other hand caressed her other breast until Rose cried out in pleasure. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Maric asked, his face buried in her chest.

“No, please don’t.” He smiled wickedly up at her and sat up on the side of the bed and adjusted the towel to his waist.

“I’m famished, how about you?” he said as he walked back to the table ladened with food. Rose laid there flushed and bewildered and suddenly cold. He was right, she was playing with fire, and she didn’t know the rules of the game. 

***

He was playing with fire, Maric thought as he forced himself away from Rose. He clutched the towel around his waist and felt particularly vulnerable in his naked state. He brandished the towel like it was a suit of armor. It didn’t help much even when he had half the room and a table between them.

Rose rose slowly from the bed, her face bewildered. Maric suspected that she didn’t truly understand what she was doing. The moment he walked into the room, he knew instantly that she would try to seduce him as a way for him to allow her to stay with him for the rest of his journey, what she called the “adventure.” 

But, this was no game. Maric spent the latter part of the day interrogating the barkeep at The Wrong Turn tavern. He was chilled when the man told him that there had been more monster attacks in the south, mostly goblins. From what the man heard, they were terrorizing some farmers near the border of the wildlands, mostly stealing livestock and crops, burning the fields, but, as of yet, no outright attack. The kingdom had sent a company of soldiers not two weeks ago. The barkeep figured that they settled the matter. 

Maric felt uneasy. Goblins never acted alone. Never without orders. 

Maric settled down in his seat. Rose joined him and sat across from him. It was quite dark now and only the candles lit on the table provided enough illumination to see the food laid out before them. He watched as Rose lifted the silver cloche revealing the food beneath. They both gasped out loud when they saw the pheasant dripping in a butter sauce with small button mushrooms and tiny onions floating in it. Under the next cloche was the meat pies the maid had promised. They were thick with a flaky crust. Rose quickly uncovered the rest to find a bowl of mashed potatoes, a platter of roasted vegetables, and two slices of blueberry pie topped with fresh cream. 

“My god,” Rose whispered. Maric looked up to see her face as stunned as his and they both broke out in laughter. 

Maric grabbed the closest plate and scooped himself a hearty serving of mashed potatoes followed by one of the meat pies. Rose went for the pheasant first and a roll of bread, which she promptly slathered with butter.

“What did you tell them to get this?” Maric asked, his mouth full. The crust of the meat pie melted in his mouth and he was pleased to find thick pieces of lamb inside. 

Rose smiled through a mouthful of food herself. One hand held her fork while the other the roll and she was eating from them interchangeably. Though they ate decently on the road, it was nice to not have to eat something cooked over a campfire. And, in Maric’s case, it was nice to eat something that he had no hand in. Typically, he ate for survival not pleasure. Tonight, he would indulge.

“I told them that tonight was our wedding night.”

The food turned to ash in Maric’s mouth.

***

Rose watched as Maric’s face went pale. “Of course it was a lie. I needed to tell them something to let me into your room.”

“Yes, I suspected as much when the innkeeper told me my wife had arrived.” There was a slight pause. “You are relentless.” Rose was relieved to see that Maric continued to eat. There was a moment of fear that shot through her that Maric would get up and leave despite only a towel covering his nakedness. 

Maric began chewing slower, a frown forming and growing deep. “I cannot prevent you from following me. I cannot even prevent you from interfering in my life.”

“Does this mean I can join you?” Rose asked hopefully. 

“Yes, but only because I do not believe I can prevent you from doing so. I shudder to imagine what else you have planned.”

Rose was relieved that she didn’t have to go through with the rest of her plan either. Though, to her surprise, the relief was intermingled with disappointment. She had seen Maric naked twice now and appreciated the sight. He was sitting across from her now nearly naked and the valley between her legs throbbed with the memory of when just a short time before the weight of his body pressed down against hers.

It was only then that she discovered that she was truly disappointed that she could not enact the rest of her plan. 

Maric handed her a slice of blueberry pie and took the other for himself. He dipped a finger into the cream and licked it and sighed deep in pleasure. “It has been a long time since I had dessert.” Rose’s body felt hot as Maric licked his other fingers before turning his attention to the pie in front of him. He had caught her eye and winked while doing so. Was he trying to seduce her? Rose quickly glanced at the bed beside her. Presumably, they would both be sleeping in it tonight. It was wide enough to fit three across comfortably. 

Rose picked at her pie. She was stuffed full from the supper provided and based on her experience, it was excellent. Not even the cooks at the palace could compete with the food they had tonight. 

“It has been a while since I ate this well,” Rose said. 

“Nor, sleep so well,” Maric said, indicating to the bed. “The last night I slept in a bed-”

“Was at Fabienne’s,” Rose finished for him. Maric had the decency to snap his mouth shut, though why Rose didn’t know. It wasn’t as if she had some kind of claim over him. 

“Yes,” Maric began again cautiously.

“Did you know that she invited me to her bed the first night I was in Pine Hollow?”

Maric’s eyes opened wide. “Of course, she didn’t know you were a woman.” He paused. “Did she?”

Rose laughed. “No, I suspect not. She is a bold woman. I like her. She knows what she wants and she reaches out and takes it. It’s not so common in this world.”

Maric joined in Rose’s laughter. “Yes, Fabienne is a rare one.”

“Lucky too. She has no husband to mind her.”

“Is that why you were disguised as Jacques? Did you run away from a bad marriage?”

“No, not quite like that,” Rose said quietly. “I was engaged to be married. But, I didn’t run away because of the man I was to marry. He was a kind man, and he would have been a loving husband. I know that,” she said, holding her hand to her heart. Maric’s eyes softened. 

“Did you love him?”

“Yes, I think I did. But, the funny thing was that I don’t know if I loved him or if I was fated to fall in love with him.”

Maric smiled widely at her. “And, what is that supposed to mean?”

“That I didn’t have any choice in the matter. That my destiny was decided for me long before. All woven in a tale to tell for generations.”

Maric looked at her strangely. “How would you know if it wasn’t destiny?”

“The only way was to run away. To see if our love for one another could be tested.”

“And was it?”

“Yes. And, it failed.”


	8. Chapter Seven

Rose didn’t tell Maric about Philip, Prince Philip who was now King Philip of Valenris the country they were presently passing through. She didn’t tell him that after she ran away and joined The Fleur Chantante, she had learned months later that Philip had married someone else. She didn’t tell him how she cried for weeks until one day the tears just stopped and she moved on with her life. They weren’t fated to be with one another. That life, her old life, was truly just a fairy tale. Now, she would make it something real, something her own.

However, though the tears stopped flowing, the pain never subsided. Every time she thought of Philip, her heart cried out for him. She was filled with anger at him for marrying someone else, for loving someone else, and anger at herself. Why did she run? She could be happily married, Queen of Valenris, with Philip by her side. She could be the mother to the new prince, Tristan. Rose imagined that the baby prince looked like Philip, with his soft brown hair and warm eyes. Philip’s eyes would sparkle with mischief whenever they thought of something clever to do or say, especially against his father, King Hubert. He loved teasing his father and his younger brother, Adrian, whom Rose only met once. The younger prince was only fifteen when they met, closer to her age than she was to Philip’s. She saw how much Philip loved him and how much Adrian loved him back. 

Philip will be an excellent father, Rose thought, smiling sadly to herself. Father to children that will never be her own. 

Maric watched her silently. There was a small knock on the door and when Rose went to open it, she saw that the maid had returned to remove the trays. She blushed when she saw Maric sitting there in only a towel, but Maric ignored her. Once she was gone, Rose knew that there wasn’t anything left to do but to go to bed.

“I can sleep on the couch,” Maric said. The couch was small, with only enough room to seat two if they sat very closely together. Maric’s tall frame would mean that his whole bottom half of his body would hang off the end of the couch. He would be more comfortable sleeping on the forest floor, Rose thought.

“Nonsense. There is plenty of room on the bed. We slept together for these past three nights, we can manage again.” Rose should have chosen her words more wisely as Maric had a look of hunger on his face even though he had just eaten. It was a different kind of hunger, one that Rose knew was filled with danger, but pleasure and excitement if he allowed it. For she knew that if Maric reached out for her now, she would be his entirely.

Rose walked to the other side of the bed and sank down into the mattress. It was soft, softer than what she would expect from a bed at an inn. The quilt on top was clean and the sheets white. The pillows smelled of lavender and Rose wasn’t surprised to find a sprig of it tucked neatly into the pillowcase. She quickly removed her robe and slipped under the covers while Maric blew out the candles. 

The room filled with darkness. Only a sliver of moonlight came through the window and Rose could just make out Maric moving back to the bed. He hesitated for a moment, before dropping the towel, and pulling the quilt over his body. Rose shivered at the thought of how she was sharing a bed with a naked man. She was tempted to reach over and touch him but feared where that would lead.

Coward. 

They both laid still, Rose afraid to make any movement. She knew Maric was still awake, his breathing was light and short, instead of the deep breaths and slight snore that she had become used to in the past few nights. 

She didn’t know how long she laid there, her eyes staring up at the ceiling, but it must have been at least an hour until she felt Maric shift and sit up. 

“This is the damned most uncomfortable night of sleep I’ve ever had.”

“Is the bed too soft?” Rose asked, even though she felt the same. She could be laying on a bed of clouds and still feel as if it were a bed of rocks with as much tension that filled the room. 

Maric stood and glared down at her. “You know why. I can’t stay here a moment longer. I-I-”

“What?”

“I don’t trust myself around you. Not with me like this,” he said, motioning to his nakedness. Rose’s eyes followed his hands and they widened when they saw his thick arousal. He seemed momentarily embarrassed and reached for the towel he dropped earlier and wrapped it around his waist. “And, not with you like that, in this bed, in this room that smells like damned roses.”

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” he said, pulling on his boots. It was the only article of clothing the maid did not take with her. “I need some air. Some relief.”

***

After haranguing the maid for his clothes back, and frightening the woman half to death, Maric dressed and stepped into the cool night air. He took in some deep, steady breaths to calm himself, but still felt the blood raging through his body. Damn Rose. 

He growled in frustration.

The clothes, still damp, stuck close to his body, but despite the chill, it did nothing to cool his blood and relieve the ache in his loins. There was only one way. He turned on his heel and headed to the town brothel. 

***

The barkeep, a large man with a hooked nose and a thick black beard, scowled at Maric from the end of the bar. Maric would be scowling too if his best customer of the night was just drinking water. The bottom floor of the brothel was situated to be a small bar, with a few tables strewn about the room. Several girls came up to Maric during the past hour trying to tempt him upstairs, but when they realized that he had no coin, most of them disappeared with other customers. Only one, a rather plump lady that seemed to be about Maric’s own age, but the thick paste of powder and other makeup on her face made it impossible to tell. She looked at Maric as if he was something she would like to devour. Maric, himself, lost his appetite. 

He would have tumbled her on any other occasion, there would be no need for even a bed, but his thoughts kept turning to Rose, so he kept on drinking his water.

Men and, intriguingly enough, two women, passed through the bar area and up the stairs throughout the hour. Perivin, Maric learned, was a popular stopover to larger cities, including Beaumont. That was why such a small town boasted of three inns and a brothel. Many people didn’t stop for more than a night. And, by the constant foot traffic Maric saw, he and Rose were lucky to have a room for the night.

Well, she was lucky anyway. Maric thought it was best to spend the rest of the night in the brothel, at least until the barkeep threw him out. The man glared at him and set down the glass he just filled for another man. He stepped towards Maric, a scowl planted on his face, when a voice called out.

“Maric?”

Maric turned to see a man walking down the stairs. He was quickly fixing the buttons on his trousers.

“Alistair? What are you doing here?”

“I should ask you the same,” Alistair laughed. “I thought you said you were heading south for the winter.”

“I am.”

Alistair fell down on the seat next to Maric and held up his hand. “Two ales,” he glanced down at the cup of water Maric was drinking and winced before adding, “and keep them coming.” Alistair dropped a few copper coins onto the counter. The barkeep instantly busied himself and two frothy mugs of cold ale appeared before them. Maric nodded his thanks to the barkeep, who ignored him and scooped up the coins into his hand and walked away to the farside of the counter.

“I imagined you would be farther south by now. You left with such urgency. You didn’t even say farewell to-”

“I was delayed. But, it is all handled now. I am still heading south.”

Alistair leaned back and grinned. He was a handsome man, too handsome for his own good, Maric often thought. His hair was a golden blond that fell in thick waves across his head. His eyes a bright blue, the color of a clear sky. And, even his damned teeth were white and straight. Girls threw themselves at him wherever they stopped before, which begged the question.

“Why are you here?”

“Well, I ran into a spot of trouble at a farmhouse about two weeks back. I’ve been riding hell for leather since then. Just made it to this quaint little town tonight.”

“Was she a comely lass?”

Alistair’s eyes twinkled. “She had the longest legs, creamy white, like you have never seen Maric. And her lips, so soft, it was like kissing a cloud.”

“Her father found you two.”

Alistair snorted. “Likely, the father set it all up. It was him who invited me to stay at his home. I am certain he left the door to my room unlocked. I found the girl half naked in my bed when I woke in the middle of the night. What else was I to do?”

“What else indeed?” said Maric under his breath. He took another long drink. 

“When her father came charging into the room, demanding that I marry the girl, I fled. Right out the window. I was lucky the bedroom was on the first floor. Would have broken my neck otherwise, or, worse, woken up with a leg shackle.”

Maric chuckled to himself. He wanted to say that this was a rare occurrence for Alistair, but unfortunately once many papas and mamas discovered his true identity, they began scheming. Alistair Theriault was the youngest son of Lord Magnus Theriault, the Duke of Evermore and the king’s uncle and one of his closest advisors. This also meant that Alistair was the king’s own cousin. But, from what Maric gathered, Alistair was the black sheep of the family, running off joining reckless enterprises and unsuspectingly sleeping with women looking to be rich and powerful.

Maric thanked the gods that he was not him. 

“And you? I did not expect you here, not alone at least. Usually you’re cozied up yourself with a girl of your own. Unless-” He looked up the stairs from where he just descended. The upper floor of the brothel consisted of rooms for the ladies of the establishment. Maric didn’t need to go up there to know what he would find. The Red Orchid was much like the brothels found in any town, though, in his opinion, slightly cleaner than most. However, the girls were the same. Most of them were painted garrously with white paint on their faces and dark red lips. They were farm girls who moved to the town for more excitement, unwed single mothers, and just enterprising women like Fabienne but without the luck of being in possession of a dead husband’s money. Most of them choose this life as it keeps them off the cold streets and puts food in their bellies and those of their loved ones. Maric rarely used brothels himself, and if he did, it was only if the girl was willing as much as he. Much like Alistair, Maric didn’t need to look too hard to find companionship for the night. He was certain Alistair was pulled off the street by one of the girls when they clapped eyes on him. And, Alistair never turned down a free lay. 

Maric held up a hand. “Not tonight. No coin.”

“Ah, well, I have plenty of it,” Alistair said, jiggling his full coin purse. He dropped a few more coins and the barkeep brought two more mugs of ale. “Let us celebrate our reunion.”

*** 

Rose woke with the first light. She was surprised she fell asleep at all. Her last thought was about Maric, wondering where he went and when he would return. She turned to her side and saw that the bed was empty and cold. He never came back during the night. 

When she sat up, Rose saw that his sword and his pack were still there. He didn’t leave without me then, she thought as she swung her feet over the edge of the bed. She quickly put on one of the dresses that she bought the day before. As she suspected, it was a little too loose around her waist and she had to lace it up tight. Otherwise, Rose turned to see how she looked in the mirror, and she looked presentable enough. She splashed clean, cold water on her face that was left in a bowl on the stand near the tub. The maid must have snuck into the room early in the morning to fill it as there was also a fire burning in the fireplace. 

Rose pulled on her boots and opened the door to find a tall, blond man standing there, his hand raised as if to knock. She gasped in surprise. He was the most gorgeous man Rose had ever set her eyes on. He smiled broadly at her and bowed slightly. He was incredibly handsome, his smile causing a dimple to show up on his left cheek. He also looked oddly familiar, like she had met him once upon a time. Once upon a dream, perhaps, she thought wryly.

Rose pulled her eyes from the stranger to see Maric slung heavily over the man’s shoulder.

“What happened to him?” Rose asked, her voice raised in alarm. Maric looked unconscious. Did 

he have another nightmare? Another collapse?

“Too many ales, followed by some rum and whiskey,” the man said, helping Rose move Maric to the bed. “I am sorry to intrude. The innkeeper told me that this was his room.” The man dropped Maric rather unceremoniously onto the bed. Maric didn’t even stir.

“Yes, it is,” Rose said, taking one of Maric’s booted feet in her hand and pulling the boot free. She began to work on the other. This would delay their departure. She suspected that Maric didn’t sleep all night. At least, she will have a few hours in the morning to replenish their supplies. Maric had been vague about their destination. Besides saying it was in the south, he did not specify how many days it would take to reach their destination, how arduous the journey, or what dangers they may face.

Rose left the rest of Maric’s clothes on and pulled the quilt to cover his body. Though the room was nicely warm from the fire, Maric was out all night in damp clothes and would be lucky if he hadn’t caught a chill.

Rose turned and to her surprise the man was still standing there watching her curiously.

“May I introduce myself? I am Alistair, an old friend of Maric’s.”

Rose raised an eyebrow. “Maric has friends?” The man laughed loudly, causing Maric to stir but not wake. Alistair took a step closer to her, his eyes hooded and a sensual smile playing on his lips. He grasped Rose’s hand in his and brought it up to his lips. Rose felt her heart flutter as Alistair kissed the back of her hand. 

“And you, my beauty, are?”

“My wife,” a low voice said. “And, you will be kind enough to keep your damned hands off of her.”

***

Rose turned to see Maric propped up against the bed. He looked terrible as a night of drinking was wont to do. 

Alistair turned slowly to Maric. “If you had such a lovely wife tucked away snug, why the devil did I find you at the brothel?”

Maric’s jaw clenched and his eyes burned. Rose pulled her hand away from Alistair, surprised that he still held it on his own. Alistair smiled innocently at Rose. “If I had known, fair maiden, I would have brought your husband right back to you.”

“But, instead, you plied him with alcohol.” Alistair opened his mouth but Rose held up his hand. “All that matters is he is back.” She looked at Maric with her eyebrow raised. They would maintain the charade of being a married couple then? Rose wanted to ask Maric why. Presumably, they would be leaving today, and though it is unusual for a man and woman who are not married to travel together, it wasn’t entirely unheard of. Of course, passing themselves off as husband and wife would make traveling a bit easier. 

“You are a lucky man, Maric. Your wife does not easily get jealous.” Alistair returned his gaze to Rose and looked her up and down appreciatively. “She is a great beauty too. Where did you find her?”

“I found him,” Rose answered, becoming increasingly annoyed that Alistair was referring to her as if she was not present while she stood there in front of him. “I pursued him.” Which was true, Rose thought. 

Alistair’s eyes widened. “Then, my lady, you are a force to be reckoned with.”

***

Rose and Alistair left Maric to wash up. Despite his protests that he was not tired, Rose knew he could do with a good night’s sleep as much as she knew that he would refuse to and demand to be on the road as soon as possible. They headed down to the tavern below where they ran into the maid on the stairs with a tray of food. Rose redirected her to follow her back down to the dining room. Alistair joined her at one of the tables, though Rose did not invite him to sit down. 

“How do you know Maric?” Rose asked as the maid uncovered the trays. On the platters before them were sausages, bacon, and eggs, with thick slices of toasted bread, slices of cheese, and Rose was surprised to see a cluster of fresh picked strawberries with cream. She picked up a piece of toast and began slathering it with butter followed by jam, while Alistair helped himself to a sausage link and a large helping of eggs.

“We traveled together for the past three years.”

“Fighting monsters?”

“Yes, and some other work.” 

When Alistair did not say more, Rose asked, “Why is it that I have not heard of you? All the stories are about Maric the Monster Hunter, not Alistair.” 

A pained expression passed over his face. “I try to keep my movements quiet. My family, you see, does not approve.”

Alistair was highborn, that was obvious enough by the way he held himself with confidence. He was tall and well muscled, like Maric, and did not have the stoop of someone who worked the land. Neither did Maric, but Maric’s face was dark from spending too much time in the sun, while Alistair was pale, though not sickly. But, it was his eyes that was the most telling. They lit up with humor as if everything around him was humorous somehow. There was always a joke to be had. It was the eyes of someone who grew up with money and never knew a day of hard work in their life. It wasn’t indolent, but, Rose thought, maybe naive. 

He smiled at her from across the table and Rose smiled back. She wondered if he would smile at her if she knew what she was thinking. His smile began to brighten and his voice dropped to a whisper.

“You are absolutely beautiful, Rose. You are wasted on a scoundrel like Maric. Run away with me.” One of his hands reached out and grasped hers. Rose would be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t tempted. Alistiar truly was gorgeous. Even the maid stammered nervously when she led them to the tavern floor minutes before. Rose was concerned she would drop the tray entirely, but Alistair swooped it out of her arms, like a true gentleman. The maid blushed furiously before standing back and gaping at Alistair until her husband called her away. 

And, Rose was an artist. She could appreciate true beauty when she saw it.

Before Rose could pull away, a hand fell onto Alistair’s shoulder, causing him to sit up in alarm. Rose looked up to find Maric watching her closely as if reading her thoughts. A frown deepened on his face, but that was his usual look, so Rose ignored the flutters in her stomach. 

“You will leave my wife alone,” Maric said. “Though, I know she has enough sense not to run off with a wastrel like you.” 

“It was only in jest,” Alistair said with a wide smile while he winked at Rose, he let her hand go, which was nice as she was able to use it to scoop up some eggs and bacon for herself and continue eating. Maric helped himself to the food before him, picking two large sausages and several slices of toast. He buttered them as he glared at Alistair.

“When are you leaving?”

“Maric!” Rose said. “That is rude. He is your friend. And, he hasn’t even begun telling me of all of your adventures.” She didn’t realize it until just then that Alistair would be a great source for her ballad. She didn’t even know Maric was capable of having friends, as prickly as he was.

Alistair beamed at her. “Well, let me tell you of the time we came across a small village full of strigois. It was near midnight and Maric here wanted to sleep the night in the chapel until morning, but I told him that we would rush in there and kill the strigoi when they least expected it.”

Maric snorted. “What Alistair is not saying is that the chapel was the safest refuge we could have taken. The strigoi would not cross the threshold of a holy place.” 

Alistair waved his hand, dismissing Maric’s statement.

“What he is also not saying is that strigois are most active at night. They fear the sunlight. And, that by the time we came across the village, they had not fed in days. We walked right into their clawed hands.”

“Yet, here we are, alive, to regale the tale to your lovely lady,” said Maric. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” Alistair continued, his bright blue eyes falling on Rose’s own, “We crept into the village. There was not even the moonlight to guide our way.”

“Another reason we should have waited until morning,” Maric grumbled under his breath. Alistair glared at him, but even Rose could tell he was not serious. Before he could open his mouth again, Maric said, “I followed him down the main road in town, where we were, predictably, attacked. We fought back and are lucky to be alive today. The day is getting late. Let’s go, Rose.” Maric stood and looked at Rose expectantly.

Alistair frowned. “That’s not a way to tell a story at all. No drama, no subtly. Am I right?”

“I will have to agree with you both. That was no way to tell a story, but Maric is right, it is time to leave.” It was already closing in on midmorning and there were still supplies to be purchased. 

Rose bid Alistair a farewell. She regretted that she wouldn’t be able to spend more time with the charming man. He was a salve compared to Maric. And, he knew so much about Maric, so much more than Rose did. If she had a little more time with him, maybe it would help her write her song. The adventure with the strigoi would make a good little prelude. 

“Well, I have nowhere to be anytime soon. I will join you on your adventures.” Alistair stood and pointedly looked at Maric, who seemed as if he was about to burst with indignation, before turning his gaze to Rose. “Of course, if you will allow it, milady.”

Rose looked between Alistair’s grinning face to Maric’s frowning one. “Yes, of course, we would be delighted.”

***

Alistair excused himself to go gather his possessions from the inn across town. He said he would meet them at the stables in an hour. It was more than enough time to purchase some supplies.

“You are scheming.”

“What do you mean?” Rose asked as Maric followed her through the markets. 

“You invited Alistair to join us so you could interrogate him for information. Information about me.”

“Well, you are not the most forthcoming. And, I like his company.” Maric grumbled something under his breath. Rose ignored him. “And, as you said many times before, we are walking into danger. It would be wise of us to include someone else that can fight. We will be safer in numbers.” 

“Fine, have it your way. But, I will not be risking my neck for both you and Alistair. He’s reckless, which makes him more dangerous than many of the monsters we will encounter.” Maric stalked off leaving her standing in the middle of the street. 

More the merrier, Rose thought, shrugging, and heading to the bakery. They would need more bread and cheese and whatever else Rose could find now that Alistair was joining them. She would also need to sharpen her knives at the blacksmith. Alistair may be reckless and Maric overly cautious, but Rose tended to agree with Maric. It was better to be prepared for the worse than be caught unawares and be dead. Despite what Maric thought, Alistair would be a good addition to their little group. She had seen a cloud of tension and worry on Maric’s face the farther south they travelled. There was something he was not telling her.

***

The day was not turning out as Maric had hoped. He did not give Alistair a passing thought the night before as they sat drinking at the brothel, but seeing him breaking fast with Rose this morning, all smiles, Maric was overcome by the sudden urge to ram his fist down the man’s throat. Rose was right, Alistair was an old friend, well, as old as he could remember, and Maric was stunned by the weight of his jealousy. He is just too damned handsome, Maric thought. He would have Rose eating out of his hands in no time.

That was unfair. Rose was a smart woman. She would know better than succumb to Alistair’s wiles. But, damned if Alistair wasn’t charming. Maric rubbed his chin with the heel of his hand in agitation. And, of course, he would join them. Alistair was always up for a lark. And, Maric suspected his intentions weren’t exactly pure with Rose, despite Maric’s claim that Rose was his wife. 

During the night of drinking with Alistair, Maric had come to the decision that he would let whatever happened between him and Rose to happen. She was as much attracted to him as he was to her. Why did he stop last night? She wanted him as much as he wanted her. Maric reached up and touched his lips. He could still taste her. 

It’ll be all the harder now with Alistair dogging their steps. There won’t be one moment of privacy. 

Maric growled in frustration, before stopping dead cold in his tracks. In front of the stable, he saw Rose talking with Alistair and a woman with long dark hair. She didn’t need to turn for Maric to see the sardonic smile playing on her lips and her dark green eyes sparkling with sensuality.

Odette. 

***

“Milady!”

Rose turned to see that Alistair was leading a large white horse out of the stable and waving at her. She smiled to herself. In the daylight, with the large white horse, and the silver on his armor shining brightly in the sunlight, his golden hair, sparkling blue eyes, Alistair truly looked like a knight of legend. Who people thought of when they imagined a hero. Not at all like Maric.

Alistair paused and rushed over to help her carry the parcels she had balanced precariously in a large stack in her arms. 

“Thank you,” she said. A woman stepped out of the stable with a black horse of her own and she looked over to where Alistair and Rose stood. She looked at Rose curiously with a toothy smile on her face.

“This is Odette Delevingne,” Alistair said. “She is my companion and stated that she will be joining us.” The lady bowed her head slightly to Rose, which Rose returned. “This is the one I told you about,” Alistair said to Odette, his eyes lingering on Rose and filled with mischief. “This is Rose, Maric’s wife.”

Odette was beautiful, though not in the classical sense. Her face was narrow, and her eyes were large and slightly tilted upwards at the edges creating an exotic slant. They were green with speckles of gold and it was her loveliest feature, though they looked at Rose with a hard glint. Her lips were turned up in a sardonic smile. Rose was taken aback and wondered what she did to offend the woman. 

Odette looked over Rose’s shoulder and her face transformed into a brilliant smile. Rose turned to see Maric make his way to them. He was frowning, but for the first time, his frown wasn’t directed at her.

“Odette,” he said, standing by Rose. 

Odette smiled at him and leaned in for a kiss. He turned away so that her lips fell on his cheek. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I invited her to join us on our quest,” Alistair said, amusement plastered on his face. He placed a hand on Rose’s shoulder. “The more the merrier, right?” he said, echoing Rose’s earlier thoughts.

Rose caught Maric’s eye. He looked at her as if he was expecting her to make the decision. “Yes, I don’t see why not,” she said, filling the awkward silence that descended on them.

Alistair laughed and began to guide Rose into the stables to Daffodil leaving Maric standing outside with Odette. Rose turned to see Odette sidle up to Maric, her face hard and angry.

***

“Who is she? Who is that bitch?” Odette seethed.

“I won’t let you disparage my wife,” Maric said. 

“Your wife? I do not believe it, neither does Alistair.”

“Believe it or not, she is. If you do not like it, you can go. I did not invite you here.”

Odette smiled, her lips curling like a cat that got into the cream and Maric was suddenly wary. “No, I will stay. You walked away from me before, I won’t let you do so again. Your wife cannot do for you what I can,” she said, trailing her hand down his chest until it lingered there on his belt. Maric swallowed. It didn’t help that he was filled with pent up need from being with Rose these past few days. Having Odette here was a temptation that he did not ask for.

“We’re finished. I told you months ago.” Maric pushed past her and walked into the stable to see Alistair helping Rose on top of Daffodil. Rose was laughing at something he had said and Alistair was smiling up at her. They looked perfect together. Like a prince and princess in a fairy tale. 

Maric wanted nothing more than to throw Alistair down to the ground and beat him within an inch of his life. 

“Are you two ready to leave?” Maric asked louder than he intended. Both stopped laughing instantly and Rose frowned. She nudged Daffodil forward until the horse reached Maric.

“Are you okay? You seem pricklier than usual.”

Maric ground his teeth. “I’m just impatient to leave. We will have to ride hard and fast to reach the next village before nightfall unless you want to spend another night in the woods.”

“Fine by me,” Alistair said from on top of his own horse. “Nothing is more romantic than sleeping under the stars, I say.”


	9. Chapter Eight

The group left immediately riding out of the south gate of Perivin. Maric took the lead as he was the only one who knew where their final destination would be, but, even when Rose pressed him, he could not say it was nothing more than a feeling. Rose could tell it was more than that by the way his lips pressed flat and how his face paled even under this dark tan. Maric was hurting, and he was hurting more and more the farther south they traveled. Despite what Maric thought, Rose was worried and glad to have Alistair and even Odette in their party now. She suspected that whatever they faced next would be much more terrifying than the basilisks. 

Odette rode alongside Maric, while Rose rode with Alistair several paces behind. Maric glanced over his shoulder every few minutes and locked eyes with Rose, before turning abruptly away. This seemed to amuse Alistair endlessly.

“He keeps a close eye on you,” Alistair began, “I would too if you were my wife.” He leaned in close to her. “More than just an eye.” 

Rose ignored the remark. “How long have you known Maric?”

“About three years,” Alistair replied, sitting back down on his saddle. 

“After his accident then?”

“After he lost his memory, you mean? Yes, it was afterwards. We met in a small town called Bredon at the house of a, well, a lady we both had a close acquaintance with. He seemed familiar to me, like I had met him before in some place at some other time. We talked much of the night and he told me that he was tasked with killing an ogre in the area, one that had killed two children within the past fortnight. We found the beast two nights later in a cave alongside a rocky mountain and brought its head back to the mayor and was rewarded with a few gold coins from the town’s coffer and another night at,” Alistair began coughing, “well, all I shall say was we were well rewarded for our troubles. We found that we worked well together.”

“And you have been with him ever since?”

“More or less. We separated at times. But, our paths often crossed. We parted last in the beginning of summer. I did not expect to see him so soon, and, of course, with a wife.”

“I don’t believe he did either,” Rose muttered under her breath. 

“Excuse me?”

“What about her?” Rose stuck out her chin to Odette, who was sidling up to Maric and speaking to him in low tones. 

“Odette? I discovered Maric and her together cozed up in an inn, much like how I found you this morning. She’s a half-breed.”

Rose’s eyes widened in surprise. “She’s fey?”

Alistair nodded. “Partly so, I believe on her father’s side, which is unusual. It is typically the fey women who sleep with mortal men and run off with his seed in their belly so they can raise their child in their world.” Rose found herself blushing. “Odette was different. Her human mother raised her and she has never been beyond the veil.” 

Rose was astounded. She knew that Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather were of the fey themselves but she knew no others. 

“Who is she to Maric?” Rose asked, though she feared the answer.

“Oh, they were lovers. Up until a few months ago, and before yourself of course. But, I would not worry, milady, Maric will not succumb to her charms as he has many times before. You are quite safe in trusting him.”

“Even though he spent the night in a brothel?”

Alistair shrugged and said no more but smiled at Rose. 

***

Maric looked over his shoulder again to see Alistair talking animatedly with Rose. Rose, in turn, damn her, smiled and laughed in return and began speaking just as enthusiastically. Both of their eyes fell on Maric’s before turning away and talking some more. He wanted to know what they were talking about, and he felt a chill down his spine that it was most likely about him. He forced his eyes forward.

“Who is she? You didn’t answer me before.”

Maric looked over at Odette, who had been riding silently beside him until that moment. She had watched him warily over the past few hours, as if unsure how to broach the topic of Rose. This was unusual with her as Odette was typically all lightning and thunder, her anger easily sparked. 

“Her name is Rose. She is a traveling bard.” Odette sniffed at that. She disdained women who were not trained as fighters as she was. She particularly detested women who married and let their husbands dictate their lives for them. 

“And you married her?”

“Yes,” Maric lied. He did not know why he kept it up if only to irk Alistair. Though, Alistair seemed more pleased than anything else. It certainly did not deter him from flirting shamelessly with Rose. And, it didn’t prevent Rose from flirting back at him. A tinkling of laughter drifted up from behind him and Maric turned again to see Rose smiling broadly at something Alistair said. 

“If she is your wife, she may not be yours for much longer,” Odette said with a toothy smile. “You know how women are around Alistair.”

Maric only knew all too well. Maric had his fair share of women. It came easily to him, but he did not have Alistair’s fair face or his lineage. While women invited Maric into their bed because he exuded an aura of danger, which meant a promising coupling, women invited Alistair because he looked like an angel and he was rich as Palti. While Maric left women well pleased, Alistair left broken hearts and dreams. One could do worse than being the wife of the duke’s son and a king’s cousin. 

The only female that seemed immune to Alistair’s charms was Odette herself. She seemed to prefer him, though Maric did not know why. They destroyed many a room with their lovemaking whenever they met on the road. Odette was a fierce lover and Maric wondered how many scars on his back were from her and not from his nightmares. 

Maric cleared his throat and his thoughts and, as if Odette could read his mind, she reached out to him and placed a hand on his thigh. Her green eyes looked up to him, sparkling with mischief. “I would love to become reacquainted. It’s been too long, far too long.” Her lips turned up sensually and her eyes grew heavy and hooded. 

There was a soft cough behind them. “Maric, dear, I was wondering where we will be stopping for the night,” Rose said, sidling up to Maric’s other side. She arched her eyebrow when she saw Odette’s hand on Maric’s thigh, but Odette, the nerve of the woman, did not withdraw it immediately. Instead, she looked at Rose as if she would tear her face off. 

“There is a farmhouse not far from here. I know the couple who lives there.” 

***

Maric knew that they would be passing close to the Boucher’s farm. Originally, he did not intend to stop, the driving urgency to head south propelling him forward, but when Rose came upon him and Odette, her face pinched with annoyance with Odette before turning to him and smiling- a true, genuine smile, the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

He suddenly had the urge to introduce Rose to the Bouchers and his only family to this woman who he was still struggling to understand his feelings for. If he quieted his mind for a moment, he was astounded to learn that how he felt for Rose was more than just lust. He truly enjoyed her companionship, her laughter and the lightness he felt around her. There was a sense of rightness. Of belonging.

***

The others followed Maric through the woods down a beaten path until the trees broke free around them and they saw a small farmhouse in the valley below. From the top of the hillside, Rose could see the dotted white specks of sheep ambling along the opposite hill. Three cows and one steer were corralled in a distant field, while two horses, a matching pair of large draft horses grazed nearby. They were surrounded by wheat and barley fields. 

“What do you think?” Maric asked Rose. She turned to see a fleeting smile on his face. 

“It is absolutely lovely.”

“Do you think you could live in a place like this?”

“I often dream of a place like this, a home to call my own.” She smiled up at Maric and was surprised to see him smiling back at her in return, his eyes watching her carefully. 

He nodded at her response. “Let’s go down. I want you to meet the only family I know.”

A sense of calm passed over Maric as he led Clover down a dirt path towards the farmhouse. A woman stood just outside the door and when they got close enough she let out of a shout of excitement and began waving wildly. It was good to be home. 

The throbbing in his head seemed to ease the closer they got to the farmhouse. Rose looked about her with a smile on her face, as if she could truly be content living here, perhaps, Maric thought, with him. 

Two children broke free from the house running towards Maric. He jumped off Clover and was tackled by a boy and girl. 

“Maric! You’re home!” the girl smiled up at him. Her younger brother clutched onto one of Maric’s legs and whooped in joy. 

“I’m home. How have you been Lina, Hugo?”

“We helped papa bring in the harvest this year,” Lina said, her smile wide and revealing a row of missing teeth. Hugo looked up at Maric with an identical smile before looking around Maric’s legs and gasping out. 

“You brought friends!” Hugo detached himself from Maric and walked boldly towards Odette and reached out to touch her hand. Odette flinched away with a frown on her face. 

Maric laughed. “Let me introduce you all. This is Lina,” Maric said, indicating to the girl who hid shyly behind Maric’s hand. “And this is Hugo.”

Hugo called out. “And, we’re Maric’s brother and sister.”

Rose knelt down by Lina and reached out her hand. Lina took it hesitantly and Rose gave it a soft shake. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lina. Are you happy to have your brother home?”

“Yes, it has been a long time.”

“I was home last only two months ago,” Maric said. “It wasn’t too long, was it?”

“Yes, it was,” Lina scowled up at him. “But, it does not matter. You are home now. Are you home to stay?”

“Only for the night. I am sorry, but we will make it worth our while.” Lina huffed and stalked off towards Hugo, who was chatting animatedly with Alistair. Alistair was showing Hugo his horse, Regent. Maric gave Rose a wry smile. “She is hard to please.”

“She just misses you,” Rose replied. “They both love you.”

Maric snorted, watching as Lina latched onto Odette as the woman sidled away from the girl with a look of mild panic in her eyes. Hugo took the reins of Clover and Daffodil and was leading them both to the stable, with Alistair and Odette following behind. Maric held out his hand. “I would like to introduce you to the rest of my family.”

Rose placed her hand into his and to her surprise, he laced his fingers with hers and led her to the farmhouse where a man now stood joining the woman. 

“Maric, what a lovely surprise,” the woman said. The man beamed at them both. She looked over at Rose curiously.

“Rose, this is Pierre and Margot. They saved my life.” Rose opened her mouth, but Maric continued. “You can ask them all the questions you want later. Pierre, Margot, this is Rose, my wife.”

Margot let out a high-pitched shriek of glee before throwing herself into Maric and hugging him tightly. She then turned to Rose and pulled her into a hug just as tight and long as the one she gave him. 

“Congratulations, my boy,” Pierre said, slapping Maric on the back. 

“Please, please come in,” Margot said, looping her arm into Rose’s and patting her hand. “There is so much you need to tell us. I knew Maric would find his true love one day. No one deserves it more.”

Rose shot Maric a sharp glance before they all went inside the house. 

***

Rose took another handful of peas and began to shell them. The simple act of doing so was soothing, it reminded her of when she lived in the cottage with Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather. There was a sense of peace in doing something as simple as cooking. Rose often cooked for her aunts, or the fairies as she now knew them, typically simple yet filling recipes like the one they were making now. Margot was busy cutting up some potatoes and carrots beside her. 

“How long have you and Maric been married?” Margot asked, placing the vegetables aside and began mixing flour and water to make dough for the chicken pies she planned for dinner. 

“Not long,” Rose said. Though it was not a lie, not really, Rose felt a stab of guilt. What was Maric thinking when he told them that they were husband and wife? Why would he lie to the people he loved most? And, it was obvious that he loved the Bouchers. 

Rose looked out the window to see that the sun was just above the tops of the trees. It will be dark in another hour or two, but the pies will be ready before then. She could see Alistair brushing down the horses and leading them, one by one, to the field to graze. Odette was walking briskly with Lina and Hugo dogging her steps. By their expressions, Rose could tell that the children were asking her questions, especially after Alistair let it slip that Odette was half-fey. Odette was doing her best to outpace them. Maric and Pierre had gone off to slaughter the chickens, but they were gone for far longer than the task would have required of them. Rose assumed that Pierre was asking Maric the same questions that Margot was asking her now. 

“Where did you meet?”

“In Pine Hollow,” Rose hesitated. She certainly wasn’t going to tell Margot that she was disguised as a man at the time. “I was performing at the local tavern.” Margot raised an eyebrow in question. “I play the lute and sing.”

“A musician! How lovely! If you don’t mind, will you play for us tonight?”

“Of course.”

“I am so happy that Maric has found you. Was it love at first sight?”

Rose blushed. It was certainly not love, not from Rose’s end anyways, but something more carnal. “Not love, no, but there was… an attraction.”

“He is a handsome boy,” Margot nodded. 

Rose cleared her throat and changed the topic. “Maric told me that you rescued him.”

“Yes, that was,” Margot looked off into the distance as if thinking, “about four years ago this past spring. Pierre and the children were the ones that found him. They had gone fishing for the day, having finished all the chores early. He wanted to teach Lina and Hugo how to fish, even though they were only three at the time.” She smiled. “I suspected that they spent more time in the water than out of it.”

“They had fished for an hour in a nearby pond with not much luck, so they moved to the river. It was there that they found Maric washed up on the bank. Pierre sent the children home immediately. He didn’t know then if he had found a man or a body.” Margot pounded the dough with her fists, before smoothing it out and grabbing a roller. “After seeing to the children, I took one of the horses and the cart down to Pierre. I had my kit with me.” Margot stilled, her hands laying flat in the dough. Her eyes filled with tears. “He was such a frightful sight. Nothing but skin and bones. He was half the size he is now. And, when we turned him over and saw his back… I was certain he was dead. But, Pierre was the one to tell me that there was a heartbeat, very faint. We rushed him home. It took him weeks to wake.”

“You both saved his life.”

“We only did what was right.” Margot wiped away a tear from her cheek and gave Rose a trembling smile. “For weeks, I worried that he would die, that he would give up fighting. Every night he thrashed as if in pain. Then the fever came and all I could do was to keep him cool. But, you are with him now. You do love him right?”

Rose bit her lip. “Yes, I think I do.”

“Good. He has no one else, besides us, of course. He cannot remember his past.”

“The nightmares. I believe that they show what had happened to him.”

Margot nodded. “Yes, he was plagued with them even when he was here, especially during the first few months after we found him. He never told us what they showed, and we had no right in asking him. They must be painful.”

Rose was certain that Maric’s nightmares would reveal to him his past, his true identity. But, his reluctance to speak about them, perhaps to even think about them, did not help. At times, she wondered if he ever wanted to know and return to his old life. Rose peered out the window and saw Maric laughing with Pierre. She was stunned. The laughter completely transformed him and for a fleeting second, he looked familiar. Her heart seemed to skip a beat.

Maybe I am in love, Rose thought. She smiled to herself, almost with relief. She did not think she could love another man besides Philip. It tore her heart in two when she learned that Philip had married another, that he did not seek her out, or wait for her to return. But, Maric, she thought as she watched him begin walking towards the house, she knew would come for her. Rose didn’t know why, but he would.

Maric looked up at that moment and Rose inhaled sharply as he smiled at her.

***

“Who is the lass?” Pierre asked as he plucked the feathers expertly off the chicken he just slaughtered. 

“Rose?”

“Yes, your wife. Don’t avoid the question. I am sure Margot is interrogating her now as we speak.”

Maric sighed, unsure how much he wanted to reveal to Pierre. Pierre, who stepped in as a surrogate father despite only being ten years older than Maric himself, had saved his life. And, more so, had put a roof over his head whenever he needed one. He gave Maric a home to return to when Maric didn’t even know if he had a home elsewhere. “She is bard, a rather good one. I met her a few days ago in Pine Hollow.”

“A few days? Isn’t that a bit fast?”

“I don’t know how to explain it, but I know she is the one.” Maric touched his chest. “I feel it in here.”

Pierre gave him a sly smile. “You are in love then? I am glad for it and I know Margot will be as well. We had secretly hoped this for you, that you will begin to build new memories with a family of your own. Not that you are not part of ours,” he quickly added. “But, a man needs his own family to care for as much as a woman needs her own husband, children, and household. The love between a man and his wife, it is special. You get to choose who you want to be with not who you are born to.”

Maric handed Pierre another chicken to pluck. Maric often wondered what his life was like before he lost his memory. He must have had a father and mother, perhaps farmers like Pierre and Margot, and even brothers and sisters. Did he also have a wife out there, one who was worrying over him? Or, even children? His heart told him no, despite it being a real possibility at his age. It was as if he was waiting his whole life for Rose. He just wished he could give her himself completely, his memories, his past, his whole being. 

Maric let his mind touch on his most recent nightmare. He felt a pang in his head as he probed the dream, or was it a memory?

In the most recent nightmare, he found himself outside his cell being led down the corridor by two guards, goblins. They were short in stature, only coming up to Maric’s waist, but they were wiry with muscle and in the time Maric had been imprisoned, he had lost all of his. One held a spear that he used to poke Maric in the back whenever he faltered, and the other a long knife that could have been a sword for something of its height. They both grinned up at him in delight as if what was to come next was a real treat. 

Maric, hands bound in front of him with a fresh rope, stumbled forward until they came to a stone staircase that spiraled upwards. 

“Go on now,” the goblin with the spear said, poking Maric in the rear with the sharp end of the spear. It wasn’t hard enough to draw blood, but the shock of pain propelled Maric forward and up the steps. The stairway was too narrow for all of them to stand side-by-side, so the two goblins fell behind him. Maric began to climb.

He woke before he reached the top of the tower. Whatever was there throbbed with a green, nauseating energy, that had Maric falling against the walls to keep up his strength. Once, he fell backwards knocking the goblins over and they tumbled down two flights of steps before stopping. Instead of getting angry, the goblins cackled wildly as if it was some great trick, before pushing Maric to his feet. They seemed to wait in delight for him to fall again. 

The climb went on for hours, or it seemed to. Maric sweated profusely, his tongue swollen, and the stairway blurred before him. He thought he would die there. 

And then, he passed a window and the breeze cooled his face. He looked out and saw that he was several stories above the ground. The goblins running back and forth outside looked like ants. He was in an abandoned castle, one that looked familiar. Below him was a rushing river and Maric imagined what it would be like to dip into its cold water. 

“Keep climbing!” The goblin smacked him across the face. Maric could taste the sharp, coppery warmth of blood in his mouth and spat it out onto the floor. The goblins cackled again. With a deep breath, Maric pushed off the wall, away from the window, and began climbing again. To his relief or horror, in a few steps he came to a large wooden door. A light escaped from the cracks casting everything around him, including himself, in a yellowish green. Maric felt sick to his stomach, but there was nothing to heave up. He hadn’t eaten or drank anything in days.

One of the goblins pushed Maric aside and banged his small fist against the door.

“Come in,” a low voice purred.

Maric blinked his eyes quickly to force the memory of the dream away. His head was pounding again.

“… is a lovely lass,” Pierre said. “And, Margot seems to have taken a shine to her.” Pierre nodded to the open window and Maric could see the two women laughing. Margot was rolling out some dough while Rose was shelling peas. Rose was wearing one of Margot’s canvas aprons, and had her sleeves rolled up. She looked completely at ease, as this was all familiar to her. Maric felt his chest grow warm and the headache begin to fade. Rose glanced up from the bowl of peas in front of her and caught Maric’s eye. She blushed becomingly before looking away.

“She will make you a good wife,” Pierre said standing, holding up the chickens. “Let’s bring this in.”

***

Rose and Margot looked up when Maric and Pierre entered the house. Pierre held four plump chickens in his hands and passed them over to Margot. Rose sat frozen in her chair as Maric smiled at her, leaned in, and kissed her on the lips. She blushed and looked up to see Margot and Pierre smiling back at them.

“Ah, young love,” Pierre sighed. “Remember those days?” Margot slapped his hand gently, which was making its way down to her rump. 

“Why don’t you take Rose and give her a tour of the farm?” Margot said. “Pierre can help me with the rest.”

After taking off her apron and handing it back to Margot, Rose followed Maric out the front door. It was a beautiful afternoon, the sun was just on it’s way down from the sky, bathing an orange glow across the fields. Maric began walking towards a small pond at the edge of the property and Rose followed. A family of ducks paddled across the water, and when they saw Rose approach, the ducklings swam up to the edge. Rose laughed and knelt down, petting one of the ducklings on the soft, downy feathers on its head. The father and mother duck watched on indulgently. 

“You have a way with animals,” Maric said. 

“I always have,” Rose said standing back up. The duckling squawked out in protest, but soon rejoined its family. “I grew up in a cottage in the woods. Many of my friends were the animals that lived in the surrounding forest.” 

“There weren’t any children your age?”

“In the village nearby, but,” Rose hesitated. How much should she tell Maric? “I wasn’t allowed to go there. There were some bad… people after me when I was a child. I was kept hidden away from the world. I wasn’t allowed to talk to strangers.” Rose smiled wryly. As a child, she always knew there was a wider world beyond the woods. She longed to go there, but the farthest she ever reached under Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather’s care was to Oar’s Rest, the small village just outside the woods where her aunts bought most of their supplies. Once she was old enough, Rose often snuck out of the cottage and followed one aunt or another to the village, making sure she kept a safe enough distance to avoid any detection. Fauna was the easiest one to follow, as she often walked slow as if through a dream. Merryweather was the worst, as she cast suspicious looks over her shoulder constantly in the hour long walk. Flora caught Rose once when she was ten, was so flabbergasted that she rushed Rose home immediately and sent her to her room. Rose only stayed inside for an hour before sneaking back out the window. Her aunts found her two hours later taking a nap in a field of sunflowers. They didn’t have the heart to punish her anymore. 

“It must have been lonely.”

“It was, but I learned to appreciate the quiet and stillness of the woods. When I first moved to the city, the constant noise was alarming. It took me weeks to be able to fall asleep at night.” Even in the middle of the night in her room in the castle high above the street below, Rose could hear the merchants making their deliveries, farmers coming in to sell their produce at the market, and the constant soft footsteps of servants walking up and down the halls. For being Sleeping Beauty, those nights left Rose pale with large dark circles under her eyes. 

“And the people who were after you?”

“They were stopped. It was then that I was able to return home.”

“The home you ran away from.”

“Yes.”

Maric leaned back against a tree, taking Rose in. She stared right back at him unwilling to break the gaze. “You are an interesting woman, Rose. I will grant you that.”

“And you’re not? Not a woman, mind you, but your story.” Maric let out a dry laugh. Rose continued, “Just the fact that you cannot remember is interesting in itself. Do you not wonder who you were before you lost your memory?”

“Constantly,” Maric sighed. “Or, I did before. Used to drive myself mad trying to find someone, anyone who remembered me. I’ve traveled all over this kingdom and others for the past several years and not one soul recognizes me. It was as if I appeared out of nowhere four years ago. After a while, I stopped searching for my past and focused on the here and now.” He pushed off the tree and closed the distance between them. “Rose… after this is all done-” He reached over with his hand and brushed his fingers against her cheek. She tilted her head until he was cupping her cheek in his palm.

“I told you they were here.” Rose turned abruptly to see Alistair and Odette walking down the path towards them. Odette scowled at Rose before smiling at Maric. Lina and Hugo followed closely on Alistair’s heels, chattering loudly about the new horses.

“Papa promised me a pony for my next birthday,” Lina said. 

“Me too!”

“No, he said you were too young still.” Hugo’s face began to scrunch up and redden with the familiar look of a tantrum. Rose went to him and scooped him up in her arms.

“Maybe not your next birthday, but when you are Lina’s age now. Also, I am sure your sister will let you ride her pony whenever you wish.” Lina nodded. The boy’s face began to smooth out but for a moment there Rose wasn’t sure she had diverted his tantrum after all. Maric took Hugo from Rose’s arm and threw him up over his shoulder. The boy squealed in delight.

“I’ll be your pony until then,” Maric said, galloping off down the path with Lina chasing them. Laughter filled the air. Odette took one long look at Rose before following Maric leaving Alistair and Rose alone at the edge of the pond.

“Well, I never thought I would ever see a sight such as that,” Alistair grumbled, shaking his head. “Tis a shame. A warrior like Maric cut down. You’ve domesticated him.”

“No, not I,” she said, watching Maric and Hugo gallop across one of the fields towards the grazing horses. Clover looked up curiously. “This is who he was all along.”

Alistair grunted again and held out his arm, indicating for Rose to go ahead of him, as they headed back to the house. 

***

Rose helped Margot set the table for dinner. The table only had enough seats for five as the Bouchers rarely had company. The children ate on the floor on a blanket spread out by Rose, while Pierre stood by the counter to eat. The rest sat at the table.

“Where will we be heading?” Alistair asked Maric as he passed around a plate of chicken pie that Margot made earlier. They drank from mugs filled with red wine from a bottle Pierre dug out. 

“A little further south from here.”

“What are you feeling?” The table fell silent waiting for Maric to respond. Only the sound of Lina and Hugo chattering brightly about Alistair’s helmet, which Hugo was wearing over his head at the moment. 

“Just an ache in my head,” Maric said.

“It is more than that,” Margot said. “I haven’t seen you worse since we found you by the river. Granted, you do look much better than you did then, you’re not all skin and bones, but,” Margot reached over and held his face between her hands and brought her face close, her eyes scanning his face, “you haven’t been sleeping.”

Rose knew Maric hadn’t, not well at least. Last night, Maric spent the night at the brothel instead of at the inn with her, not that she was going to volunteer that information out loud. The night before that he had collapsed, succumbing to some kind of attack. And, the night even before that, he had stayed up and cared for her after the basilisk attack. The last night of good sleep he had may have been when he slept at Fabienne’s, but even then Maric had admitted to her that the nightmares had begun that night. It’s been five nights of disturbed sleep or none at all. How much more could he handle before collapsing entirely from exhaustion?

“Your nightmares,” Rose whispered. Everyone turned to her. “Are they related to what is happening down south?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“What do you see in them?” Odette asked, her hand reaching across the table for Maric’s. She 

seemed genuinely concerned. He took her hand, held it for a moment, before releasing it and turning to Rose. 

“There is a witch, a sorceress, I think. She wants something, someone. She wants me to tell her, but I can’t. I don’t know the person she is talking about.” Maric paused. “She is amassing an army.”

Pierre inhaled sharply. “Then you must tell the king.”

Maric shook his head. “They are just dreams. At least, they are until I see this castle with my own eyes.”

“You need proof before you can approach the king,” Rose said. “I will come with you.”

“As will I,” Alistair added. “Tomorrow then?”

“How much farther?” Odette asked.

“Maybe another day or so of hard riding. The feeling is getting stronger.”

“You mean more painful,” Margot said, her hand resting on Maric’s shoulder. She stood and began clearing the plates. “You will all need your rest. It will be a long couple of days of riding.” Everyone stood and Rose helped Margot clear the table. Maric was talking quietly to others by the fire. Their faces were filled with concern. It seemed like everyone was taking Maric’s nightmares seriously. Even Alistair’s face, which usually looked as if it was a moment away from laughter, was grim. Had Maric been right before? Why did the others believe him? Why did she?

Lina walked up to Rose and tugged at her sleeve. In her arms was Rose’s lute.“Will you play for us?” Lina asked, her smile wide. The others stopped talking and looked up. 

“Maybe it is a good idea,” Maric said. “Something soothing to help us sleep.” Rose nodded and took her lute from Lina’s hands and sat down near the fire. The others crowded around her, except Odette who stood apart from the group leaning against the far wall. She watched Rose carefully under hooded eyes.

“Is there anything you would like me to play?”

“Sleeping Beauty,” Maric said, his eyes holding Rose’s. “Play Sleeping Beauty.”

***

Maric saw Rose’s eyes fill with alarm before she looked away quickly. Her fingers trembled as they strummed the lute, but she took in a deep breath and began to play. As the song filled the room and washed over Maric, he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. It was the night he first heard this song that the nightmares began again. He knew it was this song that seemed to cause a crack into his memories, his past. He just didn’t know why.

Maric opened his eyes and saw that everyone was watching Rose play solemnly. Margot held a handkerchief up to her eyes as tears flowed freely. Even Odette frowned with sadness. 

The song was new to Maric, well it was the night he first heard it in Pine Hollow, but the story was not. Every town he passed through, every tavern, people had their theories about where Sleeping Beauty, the Princess of Liyonne, disappeared off to. Murdered by mercenaries? Did she run away with a secret lover? Kidnapped by a fairy prince? 

Or, was she somewhere closer by? Maric thought. Maybe, she never disappeared at all. 

The last notes of the song faded away before Margot and the children began to applaud enthusiastically. Rose blushed and set her lute aside. “You have a real gift,” Pierre said. 

“Thank you for playing for us,” Margot added, standing up and hugging Rose tightly. “Please take good care of him.” Before Rose was able to respond, Margot released her quickly and hurried off to get the children ready for bed. 

“Our room is at the end of the hall,” Maric said as he placed his hand on the small of her back. Rose turned and looked up at him, surprised. 

“Our room?”

Maric only smiled.

***

The room at the end of the hallway was small like the other rooms. There was a single bed in the corner, one just large enough for a single person. Against the wall was a small table with a basin of cold water and a clean cloth. A single candle burnt near the basin, casting a soft glow. The sun had set over dinner and all Rose could see out the window was the darkness of night. 

“This was my room when I lived here,” Maric said. Rose turned to see him leaning against the doorframe. 

“I’m not comfortable lying to your family.”

“That we are married?”

Rose nodded. “I don’t want to hurt them. They are good people. And, they obviously care about you.”

Maric stepped into the room and held Rose’s hands in his own. “Don’t worry about them. They love you. I…” He looked away suddenly, his lips pressed flat. Rose’s breath caught in her throat. He turned to face her again, his eyes hard and serious. “Would it make you uncomfortable if I slept in here with you? Otherwise, I can sleep outside on the floor with Alistair.”

Rose slowly shook her head. “No, you can stay.” 

Maric smiled widely and tilted his chin to the basin. “I will leave you to clean up.” He closed the door behind her. 

Rose quickly approached the basin and undressed. She washed her face and then wiped the day’s sweat and grime away until she felt clean and refreshed. Then, she reached into her pack and withdrew the nightgown she wore the night in Perivin and drew it over her head. She was pulling together the laces when the door opened again and Maric stepped in closing the door behind him. He took a few steps towards and took the laces out of her hands and gently tied them together. Rose looked up to find Maric’s face only inches from hers and she inhaled sharply and took a step back. Her nerves felt raw.

“If you do not wish me to stay,” Maric said as Rose retreated to the bed. 

“No, I want you.” Rose almost choked on the boldness of her words. “Come to bed with me.”

Maric smiled and began undressing while Rose dove under the covers. She brought the quilt up to her chin as she watched Maric undress. Maric slowly removed his leather vest and pulled his shirt free from his trousers. Bare chested, he washed himself quickly. Rose bit back the gasp when she saw his naked back. The scars rose up out of his skin and glistened angrily in the candlelight. 

“I am sorry that the sight disturbs you so much. I can leave my shirt on.”

“No, come here.” 

Maric sat down at the edge of the bed. Rose dropped the quilt and moved to sit behind him. She traced her fingers along the scars. There was no beauty in them, only pain. Maric’s breathing became more shallow. She leaned in close and brushed her lips against his back and she felt Maric’s body tense underneath them. She kissed his back lightly, tracing each scar. 

Maric turned, his hand catching Rose’s face and he leaned over and kissed her. It was soft and light, his lips barely touching hers, until Rose pushed up into him and fell into his arms. He held her, his arms tight around her waist while her arms wrapped around his neck. Maric’s tongue licked the crease in her lips until she parted them. Rose moaned when his tongue touched hers and he deepened the kiss between them. 

One of Maric’s hands pulled up Rose’s nightgown over her head while the other held her as they fell back into the bed. Rose wondered if it would always be like this with Maric, her body on fire, always aching for his touch.

Suddenly, Rose felt Maric shift off of her as the door slammed open. Alistair stood in the doorway.

“Maric! Come quick!” Rose looked around Maric to see Alistair in a state of half dress as if he had suddenly thrown on his own clothes. He was in the motion of pulling on his armor. Behind him, the room glowed a bright orange and Rose wondered if it was dawn. But, dawn was hours off yet. 

Alistair mustered one word: “Fire.”


End file.
